


Wrecks My Nerves

by castiowl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Aromantic Maria Hill, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Competition, Cooking, Dark Past, Domestic Avengers, Former Mobster Bucky Barnes, Hand Jobs, Hell's Kitchen, Hell's Kitchen AU, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Betty Ross, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Nightmares, Old Peggy Carter, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Bucky/Original Male Character(s), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Reality TV, Russian Bucky Barnes, Russian Mafia, Secret Relationship, Shower Sex, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Switching, Tattoos, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, all Bucky wants to do is win Hell's Kitchen so he can get out of his shitty apartment and be happy for once in his life, but then Steve is there and he's awful and wonderful and terrible and ruining everything. It's the Avengers: Hell's Kitchen!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thirteen Chefs Compete

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be such a niche fanbase BUT WHATEVER. Each chapter will (most likely) be made up of three parts (morning/team challenge, afternoon/winning or losing, night/dinner service). 
> 
> Title taken from the opening credits song for HK, "Fire" by Ohio Players, OFC.
> 
> The only person who isn't featured in the MCU but shows up in this fic is Kate Bishop, who I'm basing off of Matt Fraction's "Hawkeye" series (which is incredible and you should read it). But if you don't know jack about her, I suggest wikipedia or something.
> 
> Also, the rating may go up. (Probably.)
> 
> EDIT: I've added translations for the Russian as hovertext. If you're reading on mobile, the translations will also be at the end of each chapter.

Bucky buttoned his jacket, picked up the blue bandana lying on his bed, and tied it around his upper arm. Some of the other guys wore theirs on their heads, where they were supposed to worn, Bucky supposed, but his hair was already pulled back from his face. He was grateful for the month-long waiting period in between his acceptance letter into Hell’s Kitchen and his actual arrival because it had given him time enough to grow his hair long – long enough to put up, anyway; it still only fell to his shoulders.

He thanked God there was no early wake up call in the form of clowns honking bike horns and laughing maniacally (or murderously, as Peter had attested after unlodging himself from the fridge, a feat that still impressed Bucky to this day.) He wasn’t altogether convinced that that particular wake up call wasn’t what caused Peter to be so fidgety during dinner service, forcing the blue team to put him up for elimination just that previous night. Bucky had liked the kid, but this was Hell’s Kitchen and it was do or die.

He was the last of his team to head out into the common space. Everyone was already dressed in their respectively colored chef coats. A group of women in red chatted by the breakfast bar; a few were missing, probably outside on the balcony. The men were sitting in the living area’s cushy chairs and couches and the attention seemed to be focused on Steve Rogers.

Bucky was struck by how few of them there seemed to be. They had only lost a few team members, but it already felt better with just six guys and seven ladies. Now Bucky almost didn’t want to kill everyone. The televised reality shit show that it was, it was a wonder he hadn’t publicly murdered anyone yet. And a single person notwithstanding, he could tolerate this group.

“Tolerate” was the operative word.

Bucky stood on the outside of the group over by the wall, leaned against it with arms folded, and casually tried to figure out what the hell they were talking about.

“Man, I just can’t believe you kept it from us for this long,” Sam was saying. He was sitting directly across from Steve in a blue armchair, his elbows propped on his knees and arms clasped in front of him. Confrontational. But not very serious. Sam was like that. He made you feel judged and then immediately put you at ease with a joke. That initial confrontational bit was why Bucky and Sam had gotten off to a rough start. He was sure there was some expertly edited footage of them having at it somewhere.

They were fine now. And as reality TV shows went, the audience will have forgotten they were even at odds by the next episode.

Steve shrugged. Bucky could only see his back, but Steve must have made a face because Sam rolled his eyes and sat back. “Just didn’t seem… relevant,” Steve said.

“Ex-girlfriends are always relevant,” Clint intoned from the loveseat he shared with Tony. He flipped a throwing dart between his fingers.

The Hell’s Kitchen living quarters didn’t come with a dart board; Clint had brought his own. There also seemed to be some unspoken list of people who could use the board. Bucky had never asked, and Tony was absolutely not on it. Natasha and Kate seemed to have free use whenever and however they liked. Pepper was currently on probation for putting a full-bodied picture of Tony up and claiming his dick was worth zero points.

Bucky’s stomach sank nearly unnoticably, but enough to cause alarm. Despite himself, he listened a bit harder.

Steve waved his hand in the air. “We dated. It didn’t work out. We broke up, we moved on, she got married. Not a whole lot to say about it.”

“Y’know, I thought we were friends,” Sam said and crossed his arms. “And frankly, I find this break in trust an affront to what this team stands for.”

“Sam-”

“Nah,” he said, holding up a hand. He glanced up behind Steve and caught Bucky’s eye. “Look, Barnes probably agrees.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “I missed what this is about.”

“The captain here used to date one Sif Asgard, former contestant, and his commanding officer way back when, which is, I should think, illegal, but hey, what do I know?” Tony said. “It was probably true love, right Cap? Army can’t kill true love. Bruce knows!” Tony turned eagerly to Bruce who was lounging off to the side with a big book.

“No comment,” Bruce said blandly.

Steve didn’t justify Tony’s question with an answer, instead rubbing his temples angrily in response.

“Barnes-” Sam started, but was (thankfully, mercifully) cut off by the phone on the wall.

Sharon was quick to answer and a moment later announced: “Chef wants us downstairs.”

  


* * *

  


Team challenges made Bucky uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to working with people, or hiding his anger, or any number of things that were required for proper team work. Or, for that matter, being a good chef, but even if he didn’t have the people skills, he sure as hell had the drive. Chef Ramsay saw that, at least.

The taste test challenge was something of a miracle test. After two team challenge losses in a row to the red team, the blue team was finally getting something done right. Clint was the last to go and he correctly answered all but “mushed carrots”, which Clint claimed were “too easy to be what they tasted like.” (Bucky tended not to challenge his reasoning on anything.)

They won by a mere point, Sharon royally screwing up her portion of the test, although the odds seemed sadly out of her favor with foods like ground ginger root and pureed shiitake mushroom.

Both Bucky and Steve had aced their tests, one right after the other, and did Steve’s hand linger a touch too long on Bucky’s shoulder? No, of course not, because Steve had dated Sif and Sif had been a force to be reckoned with. More importantly, she'd been nothing like Bucky.

“Now, I have quite a treat planned for the blue team,” Chef Ramsay said. “While the ladies are slaving away to prepare for dinner service, the men and I will be spending a lovely day on the Empress, a luxury yacht in San Francisco.”

There was a smattering of applause followed by a happy “Whoop!” from Sam. Bucky groaned internally; a day on a boat was not what he called relaxing. He’d rather spend it in the dorms reading that night’s menu, preparing for dinner service.

All good appearances for the camera, though.

  


* * *

  


The yacht was massive, a 90-foot monstrosity with blacked out windows, three levels including a private chef for the dining area, two fully stocked top shelf bars, a dance floor, and several flat-screen TVs. Bucky eyed the boat wearily as the rest of the group laughed and shouted their way ahead of him.

“You get seasick?”

Bucky started; he hadn’t realized Bruce wasn’t a part of the team ahead. He shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Well, I used to when I was a kid. Haven’t been on a boat since.”

“Here.” Bruce pulled something out of his sport jacket pocket. It was a pill bottle. “Bonine,” he explained when Bucky took it. “It’ll keep you from throwing up, at least.”

“Right. Thanks.” Bucky dry swallowed two capsules.

After listening to the captain rattle on about safety measures and lifeboats, they were underway and Chef Ramsay passed around glasses of champagne. Bucky looked at his dubiously. Alcohol when he already felt this queasy seemed like a bad idea. But he had a preemptive headache just from the expectation of having to listen to Tony talk about all 16 yachts he owned in Malibu alone and how superior they were to this one.

Thankfully, after Ramsay’s speech about how one of them was sure to win and wishing them all the best of luck, they got free reign of the ship. Bucky immediately headed for the bow on the top deck.

Staring out at the horizon had always made him feel a bit better and the meds Bruce had given him must have been working a little; he didn’t quite feel like death incarnate yet. He leaned forward against the railing and let out a breath.

Ten or so minutes went by, peacefully uninterrupted. Then: “Here he is!”

Bucky let out a small whimpering sound. He turned to see Clint and Tony coming toward him. Sam and Steve weren’t far behind, Sam talking animatedly while Steve grinned at him.

“Barnes, we thought we lost you!” Tony said with a smile. He threw an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. Bucky tried not to think about the fact that he knew 30 different ways to either incapacitate or kill Tony in that moment. It was difficult.

“We’re gonna eat lunch in the dining area soon,” Clint said. “I really hope they have burgers. I know Chef said ‘fine dining’ but hell if I can’t go for a burger right now. And some fries.”

Bucky’s stomach lurched.

“Mm. You’re making me hungry,” Sam said. He put his hands on his hips.

“You all right there, Buck?” Clint asked. Bucky gripped the railing tight as the deck spun.

“Uh. Yeah,” he managed to say. “Yeah. Just. Motion sickness.”

“Ah man, that sucks,” Sam said.

“I think Bruce has-” Steve started.

“He already gave me some. Didn’t, uh, do much I guess,” Bucky said.

“Guys, let’s go!” Chef Ramsay’s voice came from somewhere on the deck below.

“You gonna stay up here, man?” Sam asked Bucky.

Bucky nodded slowly. Even that was a mistake. They all turned and started walking away. Somewhere near the stairs, Steve stopped, said something to them, and then went back to Bucky. Bucky groaned quietly. He couldn’t handle the sea _and_ Steve at the same time.

“Hey,” Steve said, coming up to him. “Turn around.”

“What?” Bucky stared at him.

“Look at the horizon.”

“Oh.” He did so. “I was earlier… I just…”

“Okay, now breathe in through your nose, breathe out through your mouth.”

Bucky glanced at him.

“I’m serious. It helps,” Steve said, and started breathing deeply, eyes closed. It gave Bucky an unusually good chance to stare at him, his clinically neat hair, tight-fitted shirt, the army-green jacket he always wore with distressing on one of the pockets. From this angle, Steve’s jaw was sharp and rough with stubble. A different kind of feeling churned Bucky’s stomach.

Steve cleared his throat and Bucky immediately looked ahead, feeling himself reddening. But if Steve had noticed Bucky’s trawling eyes, he didn’t say anything. He did, however, let out a small, breathy laugh.

“What?” Bucky said defensively.

“Nothing.”

“What?” Bucky said again, sharper.

Steve smiled and he looked over at Bucky. “Nothing. It’s just of all of us, I definitely wouldn’t have picked you for the one who gets seasick.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, look at you.” Steve made a sweeping motion with his hand. Bucky frowned at him.

“What about me?”

Steve let out an exaggerated sigh. “The.. the hair? And the tattoos and the _look._ ”

Bucky frowned at his uncovered arms and hands. They were usually hidden under his chef coat. “I didn’t realize seasickness was so exclusive.”

Steve laughed. “No, I just mean you look like a guy who was in the Navy or something, y’know?”

“If you say so.” It grew quiet. Before he could stop himself, Bucky said, “Vory v zakone.”

“What?” Steve asked politely.

“The vory v zakone. Sovetskaya bratva?” Steve gave him a blank stare in response. Bucky sighed. “The Russian mafia. I was in… the Russian mafia.”

“You… what?”

“I’m gonna be really pissed if they stuck listening devices on us,” Bucky muttered to himself, running his hands down the front of his shirt. A cursory glance backwards revealed no cameraperson, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they were hiding over the edge of the boat. Those people were ruthless when it came to drama. And no doubt an ex-mafia prince would be just about the best thing they ever heard of.

“That’s a… joke… right?” Steve was half smiling, looking at Bucky curiously.

“Uh, no. No joke. It’s, uh, y’know… it is what it is.”

_“It is it what it is” oh my god of all the ways this conversation could have happened…_

Steve choked out a disbelieving laugh. “You are… absolutely serious, aren’t you?” Steve was staring at him like he was the most amusing thing on earth.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He found himself getting angry, defensive. How dare he have such blue eyes and look at him like that with his shirt so abnormally tight (really, though, why the hell was he wearing a shirt that was clearly three sizes too small)?

“Well, your secret is safe with me,” Steve said, looking ahead.

Bucky stared at him, not quite believing his nonchalant response to this criminalizing secret he just spilled to some guy he barely knows. (Really, though, what the hell was he thinking? Not that he could get arrested or anything - he had full amnesty. Even the producers of the show, Ramsay included, knew about his past. Or, at least, the basics of it.)

“Uh, thanks. I think. It’s not really a secret, though. I mean, the camera people would be all over it if they found out, but I’m not… a fugitive from the law or anything.”

“Good to know.” Steve was still smiling, a quirk of his lips that was infuriatingly attractive.

A few minutes passed. “Feeling any better?” Steve asked.

Bucky had nearly forgotten he was supposed to be up here because he felt queasy. It had turned into a misanthropic event, Steve notwithstanding.

“Yeah. Much. Thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna head down and eat. You’re welcome to stay up here.”

“No, I’m good. I’ll come.” Bucky mentally kicked himself for saying it. He’d apparently follow Steve just about anywhere now, even into the jaws of certain Tony-related pretentious boredom death.

“Говно,” Bucky muttered as Steve turned and walked away.

  


* * *

  


Things changed.

Where Steve would have ignored Bucky, instead opting for more chummy talk with Sam or Clint, Steve seemed determined to get a full sentence out of Bucky. This made Bucky all the more reluctant to do so. He would have already cussed out anyone else, but it was Steve and despite what Bucky’s brain wanted (namely a $250,000 salary and the title of Head Chef), he had a weak spot for Steve.

Even looking at him for too long caused heart palpitations, which was stupid and idiotic and downright embarrassing. He had killed people for fuck’s sake. And now he was an eight-year-old with a crush.

Sometimes he thought Steve knew. Bucky liked to think he was clandestine about his feelings, but when he tried to be aloof or even cold, it often came off as Little Boy Pulling Girl’s Pigtails Because He Likes Her, which Steve obviously found adorable judging by the amused smiles.

After already getting rid of Steve twice, (No, he didn’t need help cutting onion. No, he could portion out the risotto just fine on his own.) Bucky thought he was in the clear. Then Steve resurfaced again.

“Look at that.”

Bucky frowned at Steve and opened his mouth to protest, but Steve cut him off: “I’m not here to help, promise. Just look.” He pointed to the front of the kitchen where the two sous chefs, Loki and Thor, were pointedly not speaking to one another. Instead, Thor was happily engaged in conversation with Jane from the red team. He guffawed at something, a loud laugh that would have made anyone but Hell’s Kitchen residents spook; he did it too often for them to take notice now.

A few feet away stood Thor’s brother and fellow sous chef. Their relationship and job titles were, in fact, the only thing they had in common. Where Thor was boisterous and kind-hearted reminding Bucky of an overexcited Golden Retriever, Loki was better likened to a snake. His greasy, slicked-back hair complemented his demeanor. He was duplicitous, arrogant, and wildly unhelpful. Which was perfect because he was assigned to the blue team.

He was currently being harassed by Darcy. She laughed at something and put her hand on Loki’s shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Bucky said.

“I know,” Steve replied with a big grin on his face.

“Is she-?”

“God bless her.” Clint had come up behind them, wiping a carving knife with a rag.

Loki looked angry, then horrified, then he turned a deep red color, sputtered something out and excused himself. He walked quickly through the dining room, tripping over a chair on the way out the door.

“My brother looked ill, did he not?” Thor could be heard saying.

Clint laughed hysterically as Darcy watched Loki leave with a self-satisfied smile.

“What do you think she said?” Bucky asked, amused in spite of himself.

“Whatever it was, I hope it was embarrassing enough that he won’t be at service tonight,” Clint said.

Bucky watched as Darcy went back into the kitchen, high-fiving Kate on the way. He let out another disbelieving laugh and shook his head. Darcy had always been a flirt. It seemed a personal mission of hers to make even the crudest of them blush. Her success rate was extraordinary, even causing diehard perverts like Tony to laugh appreciatively.

Bucky was curious to know what she might say to him, but she didn’t seem at all interested in talking to him. Which, if Bucky were being honest with himself, was just fine. The less bullshit he had to deal with, the better.

Still, anyone who could make Loki, Prince of Assholes blush and leave the room was someone to be respected.

Fifteen minutes later, Chef Ramsay stopped by to check on prep. Then, he went to the front and caught the attention of Fury, the maΪtre’d. (Another force of nature, one that anyone would be hard pressed to mess with unless they had a death wish.)

“Open Hell’s Kitchen, please,” Ramsay said.

Service was fast-paced as ever. And, like always, Bucky found himself wishing there were fewer chefs in the kitchen. Still, as long as he communicated and worked his station, things went smoothly.

Clint had been assigned to the meat station while Bucky was on fish. Though they hadn’t had to work in tandem before, their styles of cooking seemed oddly matched. Clint was apparently laidback in every faction of life, including cooking for a renowned chef during a high-stakes reality TV program.

“Have you put the lamb in already, Clint?” Bucky asked as he adjusted the heat on the scallops.

“Probably,” Clint replied.

Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Probably? Or yes? Clint, this is kind of important.”

Clint’s eyes raised to the ceiling as if he really had to think about it. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so probably five more minutes?”

No answer.

“Clint?”

There was a clatter behind him and Bucky turned to look.

“Aww, spatula.” Clint picked the dropped spatula off the floor and looked at it sadly.

There was arguing elsewhere in the kitchen but whether it came from the blue or red team, Bucky didn’t know. However, it was hard to miss the amount of dissention in the red kitchen regarding Sharon’s scallops.

His own were ready to walk to the window.

“Buck, wait.” Bucky turned and realized Steve was standing close by. How long had he been there?”

“Garnish ready?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. It’s your scallops. Look.” Steve took the pan from Bucky, put them back on the stovetop, and flipped them; they weren’t cooked all the way on one side. How could he have been so careless?

“Говно,” Bucky muttered and flipped them. “30 more seconds on scallops!” he called.

“You’re holding your team back!” Ramsay shouted from the front. “C’mon!” He banged something. Bucky bit his tongue. He had learned very early on that to talk back meant getting ripped a new one by a prestigious chef and hopefully future boss.

The rest of service went well on his end. Tony had screwed up apps twice, but bounced back fast enough that by the end of the night, Chef decided the blue team had won. The red team had not fared well, Sharon and Kate both getting kicked out of the kitchen for doing so poorly on the fish station.

Back in the dorms, the red team were deliberating who to nominate for elimination while the blue team sat in self-congratulatory silence. Bruce was reading in the quietest place he could find (tonight, the kitchen) and Clint was throwing darts.

Bucky cleared his throat. “I, uh, should thank you,” he said awkwardly. Steve looked up from his phone and gave him a confused look. “For the scallops.”

Steve nodded. “Sure. I mean, we’re on the same team. If you get yelled at, we all get yelled at. You would’ve done the same.”

Bucky almost said that no, he wouldn’t have, but thought better of it. Clearly Steve had some Excellent Team Player image of Bucky in his head and who was he to ruin that?

They were soon called back downstairs to find out who would be leaving them. The red team nominated Sharon, for messing up so spectacularly on the fish station, as well as Natasha. When asked for a reason as to why they nominated her, Maria gave a kind of shrug and mumbled something about “team player.”

Natasha had been nominated last time, too, but Bucky thought it had more to do with the fact that she was legitimately terrifying than any bullshit excuse about not being a team player.

Natasha took it like a champ, describing her qualities and experience as a chef to Ramsay when asked why she thought she should stay. Ramsay, like the last time, agreed, and Sharon, despite an impassioned speech, was eliminated from the competition.

“You just can’t catch a break, man,” Bucky overheard Sam whispering to Steve. Steve shrugged in reply.

Bucky tried not to read into it too much, but by the time they were making their way back up to the dorms, his curiosity got the better of him. “Were you and Sharon friends?” Bucky asked.

Bucky didn’t remember ever seeing them interact, but his observation skills when it came to the interpersonal relationships in the dorms were basically nonexistent. Bruce and Maria could be having a public affair and he wouldn’t know about it unless someone told him.

Steve glanced over at Bucky and talked as he made his way over to the fridge. Bucky followed and stood next to the kitchen bar, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. He grabbed a bottle of water just to have something in his hands.

“Uh, friends? Not really. We talked. Found out we actually went to the same university, only two years apart. St. Francis.”

Bucky choked on water. Steve gave him a worried look and waited for him to breathe again. “In Brooklyn Heights?” Bucky finally managed to get out.

“Yeah, you know it? I’m surprised. It’s small.”

“I lived there as a kid. In Brooklyn.”

Steve frowned and placed the sandwich he had been making in front of him on the counter. “You’re joking, right?”

“Uh, no?”

“I grew up in Brooklyn,” Steve said. He shook his head a little, bewildered.

“Small world,” Bucky noted.

“Yeah, no kidding. But I thought you were-”

Bucky cleared his throat loudly and let his eyes wander toward the camera guy who was recording the conversation. Steve nodded slightly.

“I, uh, didn’t go to Russia until later. I was 8.”

“Right,” Steve said.

Bucky could see Steve wanted to know more, but didn’t know how to ask or even if to ask. They were spared having to use vague language by Tony who opened the fridge. He was talk-yelling at Bruce: “Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but why would you even bother when you could have the thermonuclear reactors right in your own home?”

“Well, firstly because it’s illegal,” Bruce said. He looked halfway between amused and dead tired. That was usually his expression when dealing with Tony. Bucky still wasn’t sure whether Bruce genuinely enjoyed his company or if he was just really good at being accommodating. Tony was certainly the only person who could keep up with Bruce when it came to science talk. Tony had a number of degrees, including mechanical engineering, and he liked to heckle Bruce because he found out he had a doctorate in biochemical engineering.

“Secondly,” Bruce continued, “because of the rapid growth rate in cells when in close proximity to reactors that aren’t properly coded by-”

Tony waved his hand in the air, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and went back over to Bruce. “Details.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t categorize cancer as ‘details’,” Bruce said. They made their way outside onto the balcony and shut the door behind them.

Steve shook his head. “At any rate, Sharon and I… we talked.”

“Lover boy is dodging the question,” Sam interjected, coming over and grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He leaned forward on the counter toward Bucky who had taken a seat on the opposite side. “He asked her out.”

Bucky tried not to look as downtrodden as he felt. He’d just discovered two girls in Steve’s life in one day. How was that for a sign? This one clearly said: “STEVE IS STRAIGHT SO YOU NEED TO STOP” in neon lights.

But let it never be said Bucky was a quitter.

“I guess she said yes?” Bucky asked.

Sam barked out a laugh. “She said no!”

Bucky caught himself before he smiled. “Why?”

Steve shrugged and took a swig from his beer. “Said she wasn’t interested in dating.”

“Usually, that’s a bullshit line,” Sam said, “but I gotta say… she’s crazy for turning you down. She must’ve meant it.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Nah, don’t pull that modest shit with me,” Sam said. “You are, like, the dream.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve said. And maybe he was blushing but more likely that was Bucky’s wishful thinking.

“Yo, Cap!” Clint called as he walked into the room. “Interview.” He stuck his thumb out behind him and Steve excused himself. Despite the fact that it was nearly one in the morning, everyone had to get their last interview bits in before bed. It was torture having to wait up when you knew the next morning was going to be just as stressful as the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make sure I mentioned everyone who was on the red and blue teams, but for clarity's sake:  
> RED TEAM: Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff, Darcy Lewis, Kate Bishop, Jane Foster, and Pepper Potts.  
> BLUE TEAM: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson
> 
> and obviously Loki and Thor as sous chefs and Nick Fury as the Maitre d'.
> 
> hopefully i'll be able to spend more time with characters as others leave. and i do plan to head over to the red team eventually, so sit tight.
> 
> if this fic feels disjointed it's because i write it at work and i have to keep stopping and starting. if you'd like to say hi, i'm at castiowl.tumblr.com!


	2. Twelve Chefs Compete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of Russian in this. If you're not on mobile, you can hover over the Russian text to read what it says in English. At the end I'll translate it all if you wanna know what they're saying, but it's not important to know.
> 
> Thanks to elen267 for helping with the Russian translations!

It had been so long since their last early morning wake up call involving screaming or blasting music that Bucky was almost let down when his alarm went off at 6 AM. Clint was still asleep in the bed next to his, snoring softly. Bucky got changed quickly and made his way into the bathroom.

He nearly fainted at the sight before him. The bathroom had separate doors for the toilets and showers, but the mirrors and sinks were communal. And in front of the mirror stood one towel-clad Steve Rogers brushing his teeth. He glanced over at Bucky when he came in and mumbled out a “good morning” from behind his tooth brush.

Bucky swallowed hard and attempted to find the caulking on the ceiling more interesting than the fucking _Greek god statue_ standing in front of him. He quickly said good morning in reply and escaped into a bathroom.

He let out a long breath. Steve was usually up and dressed by the time Bucky got up, before any of them were even awake for that matter.

Bucky showered quickly, brushed his teeth, and pulled his hair back. By the time he was finished, everyone was awake (Clint had shuffled past Bucky with eyes still closed, nearly running straight into a bathroom door).

And because the gods were against Bucky retaining any sliver of dignity or pride, Steve was traipsing through the kitchen with the tightest white shirt on, stretching his arms above his head as he chatted with Sam.

Pepper was sitting at the kitchen bar with Steve’s blue chef coat in hand, rubbing something onto what must have been a spill.

“Вы, блять, издеваетесь надо мной?” Bucky said to himself.

“Он пролил кетчуп на свой китель.”

Bucky almost jumped out of his skin. He turned to give Natasha a wide-eyed stare. She smiled innocently.

Bucky opened his mouth to ask and shut it again. Finally, Natasha spoke: “Откуда ты?”

Bucky let out a disbelieving, breathy laugh. “Москва.”

Natasha nodded. “Санкт-Петербург.” She peeled a banana she’d been holding and took a bite. She motioned toward Tony and Bucky looked at him. He was giving the pair a distrustful look, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“Он считает, что мы в заговоре,” Natasha said.

Bucky snorted. “Let him think that.”

Natasha nodded again and walked away. It wasn’t long until Tony made his way over to Bucky. “I heard that.”

“Heard what?”

“Whatever you two weirdos were saying. Look, if we want to beat the red team, we have to all work together here, so if you’re going to be fraternizing with the other team, giving away our trade secrets…” He trailed off as if Bucky knew exactly which trade secrets he meant. (He didn’t.)

Bucky considered pointing out that Steve was the one who had “fraternized” with two members of the red team, but thought better of it. “Right,” he said.

Tony clapped him hard on the shoulder. “Good lookin’ out.” He walked away.

Bucky shook his head. Whatever the hell that meant.

  


* * *

  


The team challenge that morning was fairly basic, but as all team challenges went, it involved _teams_ and _interacting_ and _helping each other_ so Bucky struggled to keep his temper. This particular team challenge at least allotted them their own work stations. Sharing, among other things, was not Bucky’s strong suit. The challenge consisted of recipes written on the backs of their chef coats, forcing them to read their teammates’ recipes aloud.

The blue team quickly paired off, Tony grabbing Bruce roughly by the arm and dragging him into the kitchen. Sam started reading off Clint’s list of ingredients right away while Clint yawned and appeared to not be paying attention. Which left Steve and Bucky.

Of course it did.

“I’ll read yours first,” Steve offered. He started listing the ingredients, then the steps. But Bucky was having a hard time listening because Steve’s hands were on his shoulders and god, his hands were warm. Unnaturally warm. _Fuck, Bucky, focus._

“Easy!” Steve said, letting go of Bucky. “It’s an omelette. Let’s hope mine’s something as simple.” Steve turned around and Bucky read the steps aloud.

“What the hell is that? Some kind of weird dessert?” Steve asked as they made their way into the kitchen and started grabbing pots, pans, and utensils they would need.

“Sounds like a baklava,” Bucky replied.

Steve made an appreciative noise and they jumped in. Ten minutes passed without incident. Then, Bucky happened to glance over at Steve’s work and-

“What the hell did you do?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his voice level as he looked at the monstrosity in Steve’s midst.

“I’m not… entirely sure,” Steve said.

“Dude, that looks sweet as hell,” Clint chimed in as he passed by looking for a clean pot.

“It’s supposed to be a baklava,” Bucky said.

“Oh. Then it looks like shit, Steve,” Clint said.

“Shit,” Steve said. “How do I fix it?” He was looking at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky glanced at his omelette worriedly. He had to time this perfectly if it was going to beat its equivalent on the red team. But Steve had blue eyes, so…

“Give it here,” Bucky said, stepping into Steve’s side. Steve moved aside obligingly. “Have you put the sugar on?”

“Uh…”

“Jesus, Steve, that takes 20 minutes,” Bucky muttered. “You stir this. I’ll do the sugar.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky grunted a reply, digging for the sugar in the pantry and pulling it out along with vanilla extract, walnuts, and honey.

When chef called time, Steve’s baklava was at least reminiscent of something edible. It hadn’t been quite shaped right, but it was better than Kate’s by a long haul, winning the blue team 3 points on taste alone. Bucky’s omelette wasn’t plated nicely, but it was cooked well, giving the team another solid 3. In the end, the blue team won by a mere point. And they won…

“-a trip to one of Hollywood’s best restaurants, the Restaurant at Meadowood, a Michelin 3-star restaurant with arguably the best California cuisine in the world,” Chef announced. Bucky let out a breath. No more boats thank _god_.

  


* * *

  


Meadowood, located in Napa Valley, did have some of the best food Bucky had ever tasted. And the rest of the team agreed. Ramsay had stayed behind to take care of some business so instead they were joined by Loki. He was currently sniffing the food with a frown as if someone might slip poison into it (Bucky wouldn’t have blamed them). His casual clothes were exceptionally dressy - a suit and tie and fashionable scarf despite the weather (80 and sunny). No one said a word, not even Tony, although he was seen muttering something to Bruce at the table who stifled a laugh.

Bucky was quiet most of the trip, happy to listen to the others talk about nonsensical things like family and their lives back home. Bucky didn’t have much a life outside of Hell’s Kitchen. When he’d received the letter, he’d been staying in a tiny apartment in D.C., barely able to afford even that.

And family, well-

“Bucky, what’s up with the tattoos?” Clint asked, mouth full of food.

Bucky swallowed and looked at Clint blankly. “What?”

“The tattoos. What do they mean?”

“Ah…” Bucky rubbed his hands together self-consciously. Everyone was now staring at him expectantly. This was pretty high up on a list of things he didn’t ever want to talk about with strangers.

Luckily, Steve seemed to understand and said: “I hear Bruce has a tramp stamp.”

Tony laughed loudly.

“It’s true,” Bruce said, deadpan and not even cracking a smile.

Tony stopped laughing and gave Bruce a wide-eyed stare. “You’re joking. Bruce, you’re kidding, right? Bruce?”

Bruce just shrugged and took another bite. The conversation quickly derailed into everyone else’s tattoo exploits (Steve didn’t have any) and Bucky was saved one awkward conversation.

Back at Hell’s Kitchen, the blue team lounged in the dorms, waiting for the red team to finish prepping the kitchen.

At some point Bucky looked around and noticed Steve was missing, so he went searching for him and found him on the balcony. It was small, but comfortable enough for two people. Bucky closed the sliding glass door behind him and Steve looked over at him with a smile.

“Hey,” Steve said.

“Hey.” Bucky walked over to the railing and looked down. They were only four storeys up, but it allowed a pretty good view of the street below. Bucky cleared his throat. “I, uh, wanted to thank you for today. The whole tattoo thing.” Bucky pulled nervously at the sleeve of his shirt.

“Sure thing. Figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

It grew quiet. Bucky found himself searching for something to say and was coming up empty. Then, before he could stop himself, he pulled up his left sleeve and started talking: “This is ‘Омчт’,” Bucky said, indicating the letters on the back of his hand.

Steve held up his hands, eyebrows raised. “Bucky, you don’t have to tell me…”

Bucky paused. “I know,” he said. “I want to.” And it was the strangest thing because he _did_ want to. He’d never wanted to talk about his past so badly before, to spill it all to someone who, for all he knew, didn’t give a flying fuck about him beyond his inherent need to be nice to literally everyone.

“Омчт,” Bucky repeated. “It stands for ‘От меня трудно уйти’ or ‘one from whom it is difficult to get away’. And this,” he pointed to the underside of his forearm at an 8-pointed black star, “is the vory v zakone symbol. The placement denotes your position.”

“What was your position?” Steve asked.

Bucky studied Steve’s face for a moment, looking for any sign of distrust or even mocking, but he read only pure interest.

“боевик,” Bucky said. “Literally means hit-man, but I had other jobs as well.” He grew quiet and was beginning to regret starting this conversation at all.

“You were a hit-man for the Russian mafia?” Steve asked, incredulous.

It was almost laughable, but Bucky had his entire life to look back on and not one moment of it seemed funny to him. Still, he could see how unbelievable it all sounded.

“Yeah,” he said. Steve was watching him with his eyes wide and interested, and for some godforsaken reason he didn’t seem the least bit scared. He looked down at Bucky’s arm and pointed.

“What’s with the cow?”

Bucky looked and turned his arm. The animal was by far the largest thing wrapped around his left arm, its tail enveloping his wrist and its horns reaching his upper arm.

“It’s a bull, not a cow,” Bucky said, almost insulted.

Steve smiled and Bucky rolled his eyes. “бык,” he said. “Bull. Another of my jobs. Like a bodyguard. And here.” He turned so that Steve could see the inside of his upper arm where there was a design like thatching on a roof. “крыша. Literally means ‘roof’ but it’s more like a… protector.”

“Wouldn’t that be the same as a bodyguard?” Steve asked.

“No. крыша are more about protecting monetary losses than people.”

“So you did it all.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I am!”

Bucky looked at him doubtfully. “I killed people, Steve. Like, in cold blood.”

Steve gave him a measured look. “So did I.”

Bucky let out a sigh. “It’s… not the same thing. Fighting in a war is… it’s do or die.”

“If you hadn’t done your job, would they have let you live?” Steve asked.

Bucky swallowed hard and looked down at the street below. People were milling about and cars honked in the growing traffic as it came closer to rush hour.

“Look,” Steve said and he turned and pressed his back into the railing, crossing his arms. “I don’t know if you’re trying to scare me away or whatever, but it’s not gonna work. Honestly, this is making me like you more.”

Bucky made a disgruntled face and Steve laughed and shook his head. It grew quiet again until Steve once more broke the silence: “So, what’s that?” He pointed at Bucky’s thumb where at the bottom, closer to the wrist, there was a plain circle with a single black dot in the middle.

“доверять только себе,” Bucky said quietly, rubbing the mark with his other hand. “‘Trust only yourself.’ It’s called the roundstone. It means I-... It’s for when a person doesn’t have family.”

“An orphan?” Steve guessed.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I was taken from the orphanage in Brooklyn when I was 8, went straight to Russia and was trained under the Pakhan himself. That’s, like, the mob boss?”

“Wow. So you were in deep from that young?”

Bucky shrugged. “I was basically his prodigy for two years, but then he was killed by a rival gang when I was ten at which point I was just…” Bucky searched for the right word and came up empty. “Everyone thought it was really stupid of the Pakhan to keep me around, just some idiot kid from Brooklyn who could barely even speak Russian.

“When Pakhan died, I was sent to live with a man named Rovshan Janiev. I say ‘man’ but he was only ten years my senior - 20 when I first met him. He and his little brother Emil took me under their wing and…” Bucky trailed off. He hadn’t thought about Emil or Rovshan in a long time and it still hurt in places he’d been sure were dead and gone. Apparently not.

Bucky sighed. “Well, they were fine as far as mafia families went. They weren’t cruel or abusive. In fact, they were comparatively nice. That’s… sort of relative though, because I was being trained at the time.

“By the time I was 20, I was Rovshan’s Крыша, his бык, his everything. I was doing a lot of travelling, too, mostly between America and Moscow. Then, Rovshan was attacked outside a restaurant. I wasn’t there. I hadn’t… I wasn’t there to protect him. I didn’t do my job.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Steve said, and he put a comforting hand on Bucky’s back. Without realizing it, Bucky had gripped the railing so tight his knuckles were white and he was shaking slightly. He took a deep breath and continued.

“Rovshan was beaten so severely that he nearly died. I wish he had. Because after he woke up, he was different. Paranoid, cruel, sadistic… He thought for awhile that I had set him up to be attacked. If it hadn’t been for Emil, I think Rovshan would’ve killed me. But Emil convinced his brother that I didn’t betray him. So instead, Rovshan took it upon himself to make me a better guard, a better killer, a better soldier.”

Bucky stopped. As much as talking about this was giving him a long-needed cathartic release, there were wounds that were still too fresh, too immediately in his vicinity, always in his peripheral, to be talked about so lightly.

“So, I continued to work for Rovshan until it all came to head with Aslan Usoyan, one of Rovshan’s biggest competitors for business in the Moscow region.”

“Wait, wait. Usoyan. I know that name,” Steve remarked. “I remember hearing about him on the news. He was killed, wasn’t he? In Brooklyn. That’s why it was such a big deal. We heard about it for weeks.”

Bucky gave him a meaningful look.

“No way,” Steve said. “ _You_ killed Usoyan?”

“Not very well,” Bucky admitted. “Left evidence behind. It ended up getting Rovshan in trouble. He fled the country, went to live in Liberia or something. And I didn’t join him. I opted out.”

“Opted out?” Steve repeated. “I didn’t realize that was a choice in the mafia. I thought you were in there ‘til you died.”

“These were… special circumstances,” Bucky said. “I had the brother of a known psychopath vouching for me and threatening anyone who attempted to recruit or even contact me. And Rovshan was so far gone I doubt he even remembers I existed at this point.”

“Emil helped you? Why would he do that?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve. “We were close.” Steve gave him a blank look. “Really close,” Bucky clarified. Steve still looked mildly confused so Bucky finally said, “We were sleeping together.”

“Oh,” Steve said and actually blushed. Bucky pretended not to notice.

“So, I stayed in America. Been here for two years now. Got amnesty for telling the government everything I knew about the Sovetskaya bratva, which wasn’t a whole lot to be honest. People who do the dirty work generally aren’t in on the secrets. Even Rovshan wasn’t too important in the big scheme of things.”

“Зимний Солдат.”

Bucky and Steve both jumped and turned to find Natasha leaning casually against the open door. She was leveling Bucky with a stare and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. How much had she heard and more importantly _how did she know?_

“Natasha. Jesus, you scared me,” Steve said. “You know Russian?” He looked from Bucky to her and back again.

Bucky steeled himself. “Больше нет,” he said stiffly. He cast a sideways glance at Steve and then pushed past Natasha to get inside.

“What’d you say to him?” Steve asked, watching Bucky leave with a concerned look.

“His name,” she said simply. “Chef wants you guys downstairs. Time for dinner service.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky didn’t want to think about anything, didn’t want to think about Steve or the team or this stupid competition. He certainly didn’t want to think about Natasha and how she knew what she knew.

 _Зимний Солдат. Winter Soldier._ He heard it over and over in his head and not just in her voice but in Rovshan’s and countless others whose names and faces were obscured by time and disinterest. It was whispered and shouted and begged out of mouths followed by silence, always silence.

Bucky was so caught up in his own thoughts he almost didn’t hear Chef at the front of the kitchen: “Red and blue team, come up here!”

Bucky lingered in the back of the group, largely uninterested in what was about to be announced - no doubt some additional challenge they’d have to deal with or some B-list celebrity no one actually cared about being the VIP.

“There’s been a bit of a change in tonight’s service. Jane Foster has dropped out of the competition voluntarily.” There was a round of disbelieving words and groans from the red team; Jane had been one of their strongest cooks.

Clint, standing directly in front of Bucky, leaned over to Sam and whispered, “I told you so.” Sam snorted a laugh in response.

Bucky found himself almost caring.

“Regardless, dinner service will of course go on and I expect the best from each and every one of you. Go on.” Chef then turned to Fury and told him to open Hell’s Kitchen.

And since Bucky was already having such a wonderful night, he was partnered with Tony on the meat station. Just before orders started coming in, Bucky happened to look up and notice Clint talking with Kate up by the pass. After a few moments, Clint returned and told Sam something. Then Bucky stopped paying attention.

“Order in!” Chef shouted from the front. It was time to focus. And once entrees started being ordered, Bucky at least had something to focus on other than his own anger. At some point Steve came over and tried to talk to Bucky, but he was feeling exceptionally despondent so eventually Steve lapsed into silence and left.

Bucky was happiest just to cook and not worry about communicating beyond what was absolutely necessary, which is why he found it particularly annoying that Tony felt it was personal mission to get Bucky to chat that night. The good news was that Tony required very little from his talking partner; generally he could keep the conversation going with pretentious facts about himself.

“I mean, just look at him,” Tony was saying. “He’s happier than usual. Which is saying something cause that guy tends to look like he’s just won 16 different lotteries on his birthday.”

Bucky had no idea who Tony was talking about. He looked where Tony was and spotted Thor at the pass, clapping Pepper on the back with a big, meaty hand and laughing. Pepper was nearly pushed face-first into the counter with the force of his enthusiasm.

Tony was right; Thor did look exceedingly happy.

“And then just look at Loki,” Tony added with an amused smile. Bucky did. Loki was currently slouching on the far end of the pass, pretending to read a ticket but actually glaring at Thor over top of the paper. “I almost feel bad for him,” Tony added.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

Tony gave Bucky a wide smile. “You don’t listen much, do you? Jane left?”

“Yeah?”

“Jane left… because she’s with Thor.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and looked back at Thor. He was now talking animatedly with Kate who looked halfway between delighted to be singled out by the sous chef and terrified that Thor was going to smack her with the spatula he was gesticulating with enthusiastically.

“Guess she didn’t want it to look like favoritism. Which is stupid because he’s only the sous chef. It’s not like she’s dating Ramsay.” Tony snorted at the thought. “If it were me, I’d just keep it on the down low until the competition was over. Sure, there might be a scandal afterward, but I’d be head chef so who the fuck cares?”

The idea of Tony keeping anything on the down low was laughable.

“Are you two giggling or are you cooking?” Ramsay shouted at them.

“Cooking, Chef!” Tony shouted back.

“Bucky?” Ramsay shouted.

“Cooking, Chef!” Bucky said.

“Then hurry the fuck up!”

“Tony, is the lamb done?”

“Yeah, it should be.” Tony went to the oven to check it and came back. He started cutting into the rack and Bucky immediately saw that it was undercooked.

“Tony, that’s raw. Put it back in,” Bucky said.

“It’s not raw. It’s perfect,” he protested.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky had no patience to spare. “Tony, it’s bright red.”

“It’s fine!” Tony said and finished cutting.

“Блять!” Bucky cursed and attempted to take the pan from Tony, but Tony anticipated him and stepped just out of reach.

“Tony,” Bucky warned.

Tony raised an eyebrow and the side of his mouth quirked up; the asshole was having _fun_ with this.

Bucky clenched his jaw and his fists and tried not to lash out, but he was so close and Tony was such an idiot.

“Don’t be so _cold_ , Bucky,” Tony said with a sly smile.

“What?” Bucky snapped.

“You’re being a real _winter soldier_ , don’t you think? It’s kind of like - Shit!” Tony barely had time to drop the lamb haphazardly on the stovetop before being thrust up against the wall, Bucky’s arm pushing hard into his throat.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” Ramsay screamed.

Bucky saw the terrified look in Tony’s eyes and was deeply, primordially satisfied, unable to look away even when Sam and Steve had dragged him off. Ramsay was yelling something and it took Bucky a full minute to focus enough to listen.

“Nothing, sir,” Tony said, breathing heavily and running a hand through his hair. “Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Ramsay repeated incredulously.

“Honestly, Chef. We were just joking around,” Tony said and Bucky almost didn’t fucking despise him in that moment. Although whatever reason he had for covering Bucky’s ass couldn’t be good. “It won’t happen again,” Tony added.

“It better fucking not,” Ramsay said. “Now where the fuck is the lamb?” He glanced around until his eyes fell on the rack and he groaned. “Is this the lamb?” he asked.

“Yes, Chef,” Tony replied.

“It’s so fucking raw it’s in danger of eating the fucking salad!” Chef said. “Get it back into the fucking oven!” He shoved the pan into Tony’s hands who quickly made his way to the oven. Ramsay went back to the front.

“Jesus, Buck, what the hell happened?” Steve asked once Ramsay was out of earshot.

Bucky shrugged off Steve’s hand from his shoulder. “Nothing,” he said sharply. “I need to get back to work.”

Steve lingered for a moment before finally following Sam to the other side of the kitchen where Clint and Bruce were pointedly not looking at the scene before them.

Something happened to Tony after the incident. He became quieter and resigned to just cooking, which was a miracle, but his newfound focus somehow made his cooking worse. Tony proceeded to bring up two more racks of lamb completely raw to the point where Ramsay was just about ready to throw him out of the kitchen.

The red team was the clear winner of dinner service that night and the blue team was asked to nominate two chefs for elimination.

  


* * *

  


Bucky honestly didn’t give a shit who was nominated that night. If he were being sincere, he’d nominate himself for acting like such a moron in front of the cameras. So, he put in his vote for Tony and quickly left the group, leaving the blue team uneasy and confused.

“I need to speak with you,” Bucky said sharply.

Natasha turned casually to him in her armchair and put down the book she'd been reading. “All right.”

“Outside. Now.” Bucky didn’t wait for a reply before stalking out to the balcony. Natasha was quick to follow. He noticed the way she held herself and stood far out of Bucky’s reach. The door was kept ajar and she stood with her feet planted firmly. She was trained in self-defense, that much was clear. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to hurt her. Not there, at least.

“How do you know who I am?” he asked.

Natasha gave him a long look devoid of emotion but Bucky could wait all night if he had to.

Finally, Natasha rolled her eyes. “You really are dumber than you look, Barnes.”

She turned to leave and Bucky seized her arm. She gave him a sharp look and he let go immediately. “Look,” he said. “I don’t care that you know I’m-” He glanced through the glass doors and saw three cameron people just beyond listening and filming raptly. Bucky sighed.

“But why tell Tony? Why tell anyone? It’s not… relevant.”

Natasha’s hard stare softened. “I didn’t tell Tony,” she said.

“Well then how-” He paused and again looked at the camera people. “Shit.”

“Yeah. For a notorious hit-man you’re not the brightest guy, are you?” Her mouth quirked a bit, the tiniest hint that maybe she wasn’t sent to find and kill him.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking straight,” Bucky muttered, mostly to himself although Natasha snorted a laugh in response.

“I just… need to make sure you’re not… y’know?”

“Sent by a third party to locate, infiltrate, capture, and kill you?” she finished airily.

“Yeah.”

“No promises,” she said.

Bucky gave her a hard look.

“Kidding.” She grew quiet and Bucky was about to head for the door when she said, “Черная вдова.”

 _Black Widow._ It took a moment for the synapses in his brain to catch up, to remind him why that name was so familiar. And when they did, he nearly laughed.

“You’re telling me…” He shook his head in disbelief.

Natasha shrugged. “Apparently, Hell’s Kitchen attracts a certain type. We’ve met, you know,” she added. She lifted her shirt just slightly to reveal scarred flesh, a circle of glossy, white skin.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt. “It wasn’t personal,” he said. It was a lame excuse, but it was the only excuse he had.

“I’m well aware,” she said.

He thought for a moment, trying to find her face among the hundreds he dreamed about until finally he landed on one that fit.

“Natalia,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“I remember!” he said, almost excited at the prospect of meeting someone whose life he didn’t end during that time. “You’re черная вдова?” It seemed unlikely that a mission such as the one she was indicating by her scar would involve someone so renowned.

“It was an off day,” she said.

Bucky stared at her incredulously, his mind buzzing with a hundred questions, not sure which to ask first.

“Well, I guess both our covers are blown now,” she said. “The people here are crazy fast at researching shit. The producers may be sworn to secrecy, but the others not so much. They’ll have my full history up by midnight I’d bet. I’ll be trending on Twitter.”

“The show doesn’t even air for another few months,” Bucky pointed out.

“Well, that didn’t stop them from leaking your history.”

Bucky blanched. “Tony.”

“Tony didn’t do the leaking, but he certainly reaped the benefits. No doubt one of the camera people or something. Could’ve been anyone. Either way, you were all over the news yesterday and today.” She had fished her phone out of her pocket as she spoke and pulled up a news article from the Huffington Post. It read: “RUSSIAN MAFIA PRINCE IS HELL’S KITCHEN CONTESTANT” with the subheading: “The life and history of James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes AKA the Winter Soldier”

“Well, so much for anonymity,” he muttered while flipping through the article. “I’m surprised no one else has caught on here.”

“Well, Tony obviously has. Not surprising since he’s always on that tablet of his. But the others are more media-deficient. Not for long, though. Everyone’s gonna know sooner rather than later. Tony only hasn’t told anyone because he really wanted to lord it over you. Although, from what I hear happened in the kitchen tonight, he’ll think twice before he does that again.”

Bucky shook his head and rubbed his forehead. This was a nightmare. He should have kept his mouth shut but he just couldn’t control himself around the first hot guy that showed a mild interest in him. Fucking idiot. And now with this wildly comprehensive biographical article on him, Steve would be stupid not to run the other way.

“Thanks for showing me,” he said and handed Natasha back her phone. “Now I’m really gonna sleep well tonight.”

“Well, I expect a far more interesting article tomorrow on my own past exploits,” Natasha said with a chipper smile. “And then afterward, wild conjecture about our past relationship.”

“Our what?”

“C’mon. Two ex-Russian mafia members on the same reality TV show? Clearly, we had a sordid romance in the past.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s until they remember I’m gay,” he said.

“Bisexuals exist,” Natasha pointed out.

Oh, Bucky was well aware. It was the only piece of information keeping him from giving up on Steve completely.

  


* * *

  


Unsurprisingly, Bucky was put up for elimination alongside Tony that night. After the conversation with Natasha, finding out that his identity hadn’t been leaked maliciously, and that Tony was probably dead scared of him, gave him the confidence needed to defend himself properly in front of Chef Ramsay.

Tony, on the other hand, came off as egotistical and arrogant, even claiming that he personally liked his lamb raw, so he shouldn’t have been yelled at in the first place.

Tony was eliminated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RUSSIAN TRANSLATION:  
> Bucky: "Вы чертовски издеваешься надо мной?" (Are you fucking kidding me?)  
> Natasha: "Он пролил кетчуп на пиджаке." (He spilled ketchup on his jacket.)  
> Natasha: "Откуда ты?" (Where are you from?)  
> Bucky: "Москва." (Moscow.)  
> Natasha: "Санкт-Петербург." (Saint Petersburg)  
> Natasha: "Он считает, что мы заговоре." (He thinks we're plotting.)  
> -  
> Natasha: "Зимний Солдат." (Winter Soldier)  
> Bucky: "Больше нет." (Not anymore.)  
> -  
> Bucky: "К черту!" (Fuck!)  
> -  
> Natasha: "Черная вдова." (Black widow)
> 
> The tattoo info was taken from wikipedia.


	3. Ten Chefs Compete

If Bucky thought the previous day was bad, the next day was a fucking nightmare. Natasha had been right and now the entirety of both the red and blue teams knew Bucky’s life story. Natasha’s story, for whatever reason, had yet to hit the online world and she was safe from the constant _staring_.

In Bucky’s experience, people tended to have a limited range of reactions after finding out what he used to do. Politely disinterested (AKA “I’m going to pretend I never heard this information before and treat you like I just found out you worked as a bagger at a grocery store”), downright terrified (usually involving constant avoidance and whispered warnings to friends/colleagues), and very rarely acceptance. Steve was on that list, Bucky was glad to know, and at the very least he was grateful he’d told Steve ahead of time so it hadn’t ruined his (already impossible and mostly delusional) chances.

Bucky ignored the incessant stares that morning. He had had plenty of practice but this was on a whole new level. Kate seemed incapable of looking away, even conspicuously taking photos on her phone a couple times as Bucky attempted to make himself breakfast in peace. He overheard her telling Clint something about “SnapChat”, whatever the hell that was. Clint seemed unaffected by the news which made Bucky wonder if he somehow already knew, but thought better of it; this was probably just Clint being Clint and not (outwardly) giving a shit about anything but pizza.

Maria and Pepper were conversing in a far corner and Bucky’s heightened awareness of his surroundings tipped him off to their intermittent glances at him.

Darcy was possibly the worst. She had taken Bucky’s past as a free invite to harass him.

“You’re, like, kind of a bad ass,” she said with a big smile. “And since Jane left I really don’t have anyone to-”

“Not interested,” Bucky interrupted.

“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to-”

“Really,” Bucky said and looked up from his plate to stare her dead in the eye. “Not interested.”

Darcy made a face and left. No doubt she’d be back for round two at some point.

Bruce, who had never appeared all that interested in the happenings of the Hell’s Kitchen dorm life in the first place, was pointedly reading a book and avoiding eye contact of all types.

Steve was currently wrapped up in some conversation with Sam about workout routines and various exercise-related injuries they’d each had which quickly devolved into combat-related injuries. Steve had given Bucky a heartfelt grin when he first walked into the kitchen and he even occasionally glanced up from his conversation to smile at him. Bucky ignored it. He hated the pity stares just as much as the terror ones.

Sam, on the other hand, seemed wary of him, glancing over as he came into the room and then avoiding eye contact the rest of the morning.

The cameras were the worst part, though, nearly all of them keeping a trained eye on him. He did his best to look unfazed but it was difficult when he could literally feel his skin crawl every five seconds from being watched.

He was beyond relieved when the phone finally rang and they were beckoned downstairs to start the day.

  


* * *

  


On a list of things Bucky was okay with doing at 7 in the morning surrounded by yelling, angry people, wrestling farm animals into cages was dead last. At the very least it distracted the others from watching Bucky’s every movement (barring his attempt to sneak up on a turkey during which he overheard Kate telling Clint: “He does it just like an assassin would!”)

Bucky even found himself laughing as Sam chased a piglet around the pen, cooing after it and eventually begging it to _please get in the goddamn cage you piece of shit bacon motherfucker._

He got even more enjoyment watching Steve watch Sam. His smile lit up his face, touched his eyes. Bucky got caught staring once and instead of quickly looking away, he smiled at Steve who somehow smiled even bigger. It made Bucky feel _giddy_ , which was just ridiculous.

The blue team won (Pepper had lost a lot of time for the red team after falling flat on her face and getting a mouthful of mud) but it was one of those lucky team challenges where the winning team won absolutely nothing. Instead, they were all put in charge of prepping the dining room and kitchen -

“Because tonight,” Chef Ramsay said, “is family night.”

A couple of the chefs clapped and smiled. Bucky was not among them. Kids were a nightmare and he was not, unsurprisingly, very good with them. At least he wouldn’t be forced to interact with them.

“I have something special planned for tonight,” Ramsay continued. “Maria from the red team and Bucky from the blue team will each be in charge of the pizza-making station where we’ll be making pizzas from scratch right in front of our guests at their tables.”

Bucky groaned before he could stop himself and Steve raised an eyebrow at him. Luckily Chef didn’t notice and dismissed them.

  


* * *

  


“So, did you _cook_ for the mafia, too?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked up at Steve across the counter from him in the kitchen. Bucky returned his gaze to the carrots he was chopping but not before spying a whimsical little smile on Steve’s face. The others who were close enough to hear (Sam and Clint) both looked up and then proceeded to pretend not to listen.

“Yes, actually,” Bucky replied. “When I could.”

Steve nodded appreciatively and seemed satisfied with that answer so the team lapsed into silence. Bruce walked back into the kitchen carrying a box of fresh cabbages.

“So you were really in the mafia?” Sam asked cautiously. He was standing three feet to Bucky’s left and shifted uncomfortably under Bucky’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, conscious of the five cameras that were currently filming in that room alone, not counting the stationary cameras in the corners that filmed constantly.

“Like… the real friggin’ mafia? Like, Scarface? Al Capone?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“Shit.”

“That’s so sweet,” Clint chimed in.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, but Clint was intently peeling potatoes.

Kate came over carrying a bowl of potatoes already peeled. “These are extra,” she said, placing them next to Clint. He nodded in thanks.

“Nah, but honestly, I’ve worked with some mafia guys,” Clint continued. “They were always the nicest.” Kate, who had just started to walk away, paused to listen.

Bucky snorted a laugh. “And where’d you work exactly?”

“I was a carnie,” Clint replied matter-of-factly. “Guess the mobsters really liked their freakshows cause they were always our number one contributors.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Kate said with a grin. “You’re a freak!” She punched him playfully on the shoulder and he grinned.

“You were really a carnie?” Steve asked.

Clint nodded. “Grew up with ‘em basically.”

“And, uh, what was your _talent_?” Sam asked with a sly little smile.

“Lemme guess,” Bruce interjected. “Throwing knives.”

Clint pointed at him with the peeler. “Right on. Occasionally a knife swallower, but that can fuck you up. I’d rather be on the other end of the knife.”

“You mean cooking or throwing?” Steve asked.

“Either. Both.”

“Well, in case anyone was wondering,” Kate said placing her hands on her hips. “I used to be a private eye.”

Sam barked out a laugh. She glared at him.

“Wait, you’re serious,” he said. “Shit, I’m sorry. But how old are you?”

“19,” she replied indignantly.

“Veronica Mars did it by 18,” Steve pointed out.

“Who the hell is Veronica Mars?” Bucky asked.

Kate groaned. “Everyone here is so _old_ ,” she said and walked away.

“No really, who the hell is Veronica Mars?” Bucky repeated.

Steve waved his hand in the air. “Just a TV show.”

“So, who else had a weird fuckin’ job?” Clint asked in way of conversation. “We’ve got a so-called mafia prince and a carnie. Sam? Weird jobs?”

Sam shrugged. “Nothin’ too weird,” he said. “Before this I worked at the VA doing PTSD rehabilitation. Talk therapy. Shit like that.”

“Oh c’mon,” Clint said. “Not even _one_ weird job?”

“I was part of a biochemical experiment in college,” Bruce interjected.

“There we go!” Clint said excitedly. “What happened? Did you grow a second head? Did they clone you and splice your clone with a rat to make a half-man, half-rat hybrid that destroyed the town?”

“Not quite,” Bruce said with a small smile. “But there were… lasting effects.”

“Nothing serious?” Steve said.

Bruce gave a little half-shrug. “Some chemically-enhanced anger management issues. I deal with it.”

Sam sidled up next to Bucky and said under his breath, “I can’t tell if this guy is joking. He seems like the chillest dude there is.” Bucky laughed appreciatively, feeling his heart swell just a little. Sam was trying to include him. That could only happen if Sam wasn’t terrified of him. It was progress.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t always the, uh, ‘chillest dude’,” Bruce said with a smile aimed at Sam.

Sam laughed. “Now I really wanna see you angry. It’s gotta be horrifying. The quietest ones are always the scariest when they’re angry.”

“You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” Bruce said.

“So, you married, Bruce?” Steve asked.

Bruce looked surprised at the question. “No. No, I have a girlfriend though.”

“Oh yeah? What’s her name?” Sam asked.

“Betty.”

“Betty and Bruce?” Sam said.

“Shit, you guys sound like a bad comic strip from the 50s,” Clint said.

“What about you, Clint?” Sam asked. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Estranged ex-wives?”

“No, no, and yes,” Clint replied.

“What, you serious? You’ve already been married?” Sam asked.

“Yep. You haven’t?”

“Hell no. I’ve had a couple girlfriends, but nothing that serious.”

“Maybe you should take a page out of Steve’s book and date someone on the red team,” Clint suggested.

Sam snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right.” He paused. “Although, Natasha ain’t bad looking, is she?”

“Dude, don’t even go there,” Clint said and gave him a warning look.

“What, you call ‘dibs’ or something?” Sam asked with a smirk.

“Hell no. I just know her, man. And she’s _scary_. I pity any guy that gets caught in her web.”

Bucky looked up at Clint quizzically. “You knew her before we came here,” he said.

Clint hesitated and although that was answer enough he said, “Yeah. We… worked together. Before.”

“Natasha was a carnie?” Steve asked in disbelief.

“God no,” Clint said. “No, I did some, uh, security work for awhile.” He glanced at Bucky for a moment before looking away. It made Bucky a little nervous. Exactly how much did Clint know about him? Had Natasha told him or had he found out online like everyone else? If he and Natasha had known each other before the show, it stood to reason he knew about her Black Widow persona. Which could mean Clint had been part of the mafia as well. And if there were three people on the same shitty reality show who were all in the mafia, there’s no way that was coincidence. And Bucky had never entirely outruled the possibility that Natasha had been sent there to watch him or even capture him on behalf of the Sovetskaya bratva or whatever group Natasha had been a part of.

“Well, it all seems very hush-hush,” Sam said looking only mildly interested.

Clint sighed. “I was FBI. _Was_ ,” he repeated. “Nat was Interpol. We, uh, ran into each other more than once.”

“Holy shit,” Sam said. “FBI. For real?”

Clint shrugged.

“I guess that explains why she knows Russian,” Steve pointed out and gave Bucky what was probably supposed to be an optimistic look. Bucky frowned. It brought him back to what Natasha had said the night before, that her story would be going live today. He made a mental note to check as soon as he got up to the dorm; he was more than a little curious.

What he did know about her - her name (Natalia) and alias (Black Widow) shed a lot of light, but not enough to build a good picture. Most of what he’d heard about her had been rumor anyway. Or at least he hoped it was rumor. If not, then she’d been about as notorious and ruthless as he had in his final years. Some deep, twisted part of himself wished it were true if only because solidarity up to that point had been an impossibility.

Loki sauntered into the room and after taking a cursory look around and sneering at the peeled potatoes next to Clint, he looked at Bucky. “Barnes, start getting the pizza station ready,” he said and left without waiting for a reply.

“Yes, your majesty,” Bucky said, only loud enough for his team to hear. Sam let out a loud laugh and Steve smiled widely at him.

  


* * *

  


“They used a terrible picture of me, didn’t they?” Natasha said right behind Bucky making him jump a little. He’d been so enthralled in the investigative piece on her he hadn’t even noticed her come up behind him in the dorm.

She was being sarcastic no doubt because the photo they used showed her in a skin-tight black outfit in some crazy bendy position and looking directly at the camera. Bucky half wondered if the photographer had lived to see his photo printed or not.

“Have you gotten to our love affair yet?” Natasha asked. She slid onto the arm of the chair Bucky was sitting in.

“No. Wait. They really did speculate?”

Natasha snatched the phone out of his hand, scrolled to the bottom of the article, then handed it back. “Here,” she said.

Bucky started to read:

“This news is most shocking, of course, because it follows the strikingly similar story of another _Hell’s Kitchen_ contestant, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. What are the chances that two contestants of the same reality show just so happen to both be ex-mafia thugs? This has caused many to speculate on the relationship between Romanoff and Barnes. It seems likely the two knew each other before being on the show, but just how closely? Although Barnes is a self-professed homosexual, that wouldn’t be the first lie he’s told in his life.”

Bucky snorted a laugh.

“However, Romanoff’s history with the Izmaylovskaya Bratva indicates her position would’ve been one of hostility when it came to those of the Sovetskaya Bratva, as Barnes was. Their appearance on the same show, then, is suspect and perhaps even malicious.

“Whatever their intentions, it goes without saying that this season’s _Hell’s Kitchen_ will be one to remember. Tune in October 1st to see the season premiere and we’ll keep you updated in the meantime.”

“‘Self-professed homosexual’ is a new one,” Bucky commented. He scrolled back up the page to continue reading where he left off.

“I don’t think anyone else has read it,” Natasha said. Bucky looked around the room. She was either right or no one cared anymore about ex-Russian criminals. “Without Tony here to point people in the right direction, they may not find out for another week.”

Then Sam sat up straight from where he’d been hunched over the coffee table with a tablet and said loudly, “Um.”

Steve and several others stopped what they were doing to stare at him. He held up the tablet; it was Natasha’s article. “Um!” he said again louder and pointed at it, eyes wide.

“Well, so much for that,” Bucky said.

  


* * *

  


The news that there were not just one but two ex-mafia “thugs” on the show came as a shock to a lot of people. None moreso than Sam who found it a credit to his taste in woman that he’d taken a liking to “one badass lady”. (Natasha heard this comment to Steve and Bucky, and Sam was mortified, but she just winked and smiled and walked away. If it were possible, Sam seemed even more in love afterward.)

After a short break, they were all back downstairs getting ready for family night. Bucky was obsessively fixing the pizza making station, making sure there was twice as much cheese as needed because kids tended to be grabby.

“You look like you want to die,” Steve said, walking over to Bucky.

“Kids and I don’t exactly get along,” Bucky replied. “This is basically my nightmare.”

“You’re kidding! Kids are great, though!” Steve put one hand on his hip and Bucky had to force his eyes up because it really was drawing attention to that impossible shoulder-to-hip ratio.

“Kids don’t like me,” Bucky said.

“I don’t believe that for a second. What’s not to like?”

Bucky couldn’t actually tell if Steve was being sarcastic or not so he averted his eyes back to his pizza bullshit.

Bucky didn’t so much not like kids as he just didn’t have _experience_ with kids. Lucky for him, the parents seemed unperturbed by his recent outing as a hitman and let their kids have free reign of the dining room.

Fury was looking nonplussed about the whole situation, stepping around toddlers and elementary-aged kids alike like he’d been doing it his whole life. (Did Fury have kids? Bucky made a point to ask Steve because Bucky just couldn’t imagine Fury having any emotion besides slight annoyance.)

Bucky watched Fury as he pointed out a child to Thor who gleefully took charge, scooped up the toddler, and returned her to her parents. Loki was in the kitchen looking downright horrified at the scene before him.

Something tugged on Bucky’s coat. He looked down to see a little black girl with pigtails and wide eyes. “Can I make my pizza now?” she asked. She couldn’t have been more than four years old, but she had imbued the sentence with enough annoyance to match Fury’s.

“Uh. Oh. Yeah.” Bucky tried to give her an encouraging smile but she placed a hand on her hip and didn’t break what was quickly turning into a glare.

Bucky glanced over at the pass where Ramsay was busy giving out orders and checking them as they came up. He looked at the little girl.

“Listen,” he said and quickly searched for Fury; he was on the other side of the dining room talking to a table of guests. “Do you wanna just make the pizza yourself?”

It was technically against the rules but frankly this kid looked like she knew what she wanted.

Her face instantly lit up. “Really?” she asked excitedly.

“Why the hell not?” Bucky paused. “Heck. Why the heck not.”

She giggled and lifted her arms up. It took him a good few seconds to realize what she was doing. He picked her up, she leaned down, and started building her own pizza.

“You like peppers?” he asked, not quite believing any child could like anything but cheese or pepperoni pizza.

“Only the red ones,” she replied matter-of-factly and scattered a few on her pizza. “One time I ate an entire pepper all by myself,” she added.

“That’s actually really impressive,” Bucky said.

She nodded. She knew it was impressive.

“I’m Tanya, by the way,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky? That’s a funny name,” she said. “You remind me of my brother. He has tattoos, too.”

Bucky glanced down and noticed his sleeve had ridden up while holding her. “Oh yeah?” he said. “Well, you kind of remind me of my sister.”

“You have a little sister?” she asked excitedly.

Bucky nodded. “She’s older than you, though.”

“Barnes, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Fury. Shit.

Bucky quickly placed Tanya on the ground. “Sir. I, uh, I was letting Tanya make her own pizza.”

Fury looked with his one good eye at the little girl and raised his eyebrows. “That… was not the assignment,” Fury said slowly.

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Bucky was helping me,” Tanya cut in. She put both hands on her hips and glared right back at Fury.

Finally, unbelievably, Fury looked away and sighed. “No more special treatments, Barnes,” Fury said and took his leave.

Bucky let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You’re welcome,” Tanya said cheerfully before skipping away to her mom.

  


* * *

  


Once all the pizzas had been made, baked, and served, Bucky was back in the blue kitchen helping Clint on the meat station. The chatter was either lighthearted banter or business, which hopefully meant the rest of service had gone well.

True enough, Ramsay declared the blue team the winners and told them all to clear down. They were finished in fifteen minutes.

“Where the hell’d Steve get off to?” Sam asked, looking around. Bucky looked too but he was nowhere.

“He’s putting shit away in the pantry,” Clint replied.

“I’ll get him,” Bucky offered. “Gotta put away this anyway.” He hefted the container of flour bags and headed through the back door, down the short hallway to the pantry.

Steve was inside pushing a big box onto the top shelf. Bucky allowed himself a couple seconds of pure bliss watching Steve’s midriff poke out from under his coat before clearing his throat.

“Hey,” Steve said and wiped his hands together.

“Hey.” Bucky handed Steve the flour and he took it and placed it on the shelf.

“Heard you got yelled at by the Fury himself,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. “I had a pretty awesome kid stand up for me so it all worked out.”

Steve laughed. “So hanging out with kids not as much of a nightmare as you thought?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, all right, they were okay. Maybe I was more scared of the concept of children than the children themselves? I don’t know.”

“Well, I thought it was pretty cute the way you handled those kids out there.”

“Cute?” Bucky repeated. The word just felt all wrong. He’d been called a lot of things in his life but cute wasn’t one of them.

“Uh.” Steve thought a moment. “No, yeah, ‘cute’ is all I got.”

Bucky snorted. “Thanks, then. I guess.”

It grew quiet and suddenly the two or so feet between them became too close, the pantry too small, and Bucky’s entire body felt hypersensitive. Steve stared at him with those stupidly bright blue eyes and it was absolutely Bucky’s imagination that his cheeks were flushed pink or if they were it was because of the heavy lifting _not_ because of their proximity. “We should get back,” Bucky said softly. He cleared his throat and said louder, “The rest of the guys are done clearing down-”

Before he could finish, Steve stepped toward him, grabbed his face and kissed him right on the mouth. It was quick and almost chaste given Bucky’s surprise and therefore lack of involvement in the thing. When Steve broke the kiss and took a step away, his face was unreadable. Instead he seemed to be studying Bucky who was staring, mouth agape like a fucking idiot.

“Yo, what’s the hold up in here?”

Clint. Shit.

“Just finished putting stuff away. You guys all done?” Steve said calmly. _How could he be so fucking calm?_

“Yeah. We’re heading up,” Clint said. He turned and left, Steve close behind. He paused at the door.

“Comin’, Buck?” He gave Bucky a big conspiratorial grin before turning and walking away.

-

The red team nominated Darcy and Pepper for their failure on the meat station. Pepper was eliminated and frankly she didn’t look too upset about it.

Although Bucky was dying to talk to Steve, to figure out _what the hell_ , everyone else in the dorms was too excited about _something_ , Steve included. They had gathered around Sam and his tablet on the couch when Bucky had returned from doing his interview.

“Come check this out, Bucky,” Clint said and ushered him over behind the couch. Bucky looked over Sam’s shoulder and read the massive black text: “Hell’s Kitchen Contestants in Love?!” Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach and his eyes flicked over to Steve, but he looked calm, laughing at something Sam had just said.

Bucky continued reading: “Not for the first time, two Hell’s Kitchen contestants have fallen for each other. We’re not allowed to reveal any names here for spoiler-y purposes (tune in October 1st to watch it all go down!), but reliable sources have confirmed that two contestants who are both no longer on the show have decided to join forces and open their own restaurant. The female contestant (or should we say ex-contestant?) says she wasn’t all that heartbroken by her elimination-”

The page ended and Sam didn’t seem interested in scrolling down.

“Who the hell are they talking about?” Bucky asked.

“Pepper and Tony,” Natasha replied. She was seated in an adjacent chair next to Darcy who was looking downright gleeful about the whole thing.

Bucky stared at Natasha for a second. “Is that a joke?”

“No way. Legit,” Clint replied. “Always knew there was something going on there.”

“You did fuckin’ not,” Sam said. “I’ll give you Thor and Jane, but Pepper and Tony? They fucking hated each other.”

“It was a love-hate thing,” Natasha said.

“Whatever it was,” Maria said, “I say we get some sleep. Not all of us can get a billionaire to fall in love with us so he can buy us our own restaurant.”

The rest agreed and one by one started moseying off to bed. Bucky stuck around hoping to catch Steve alone, but his conversation with Sam about Pepper and Tony’s secret relationship was far more important than talking to the guy he’d just fucking _kissed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT
> 
> THEY KISSED


	4. Nine Chefs Compete

Bucky was going crazy. That was the only way to explain it because it was the next morning and _nothing had changed_. Steve still smiled politely at him and made breakfast for himself and chatted with Sam as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t kissed Bucky just 8 hours ago. 

No, the only explanation was that in a fit of hysteria Bucky had hallucinated the whole thing and he should just move on already.

Or, more likely, Bucky was overreacting and what he imagined as something major was actually just a spur of the moment thing that meant absolutely nothing and he was taking it way too seriously and-

Bucky’s phone buzzed. It surprised him because his contacts were few and he was more likely to get a phone call than a text. And yet…

_“We should talk.”_

Well, that was cryptic. Bucky looked around and Steve was staring right at him with his phone in hand. Steve raised his eyebrows, looked back at his phone, and started typing. A moment later Bucky’s phone buzzed again.

_“Cameras. Figured you wouldn’t want everyone to know??”_

Bucky stared at the message for a good thirty seconds before replying: _“How did you get my number?”_

_“Natasha.”_

Bucky almost asked how Natasha got his number, but that was a stupid question knowing who she was. 

Bucky couldn’t tell if it was sweet or disconcerting that Steve was worried about being public. Was it really for Bucky’s sake or was Steve embarrassed? Was Bucky thinking way too hard about this?

 _“Okay,”_ Bucky replied. 

_“Go into the second stall of the bathroom in five minutes.”_

Bucky couldn’t help letting out a little laugh. 

“Texting your boyfriend?” Natasha came up behind Bucky and it took everything in him not to yell. 

“What? No! I mean… What?” Ex-assassin Bucky Barnes: calm, cool, collected. 

Natasha smirked. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She hit him lightly on the arm. “Ловербой.”

She walked away with a smile leaving Bucky looking angrily at his phone.

Steve had disappeared in the short time it took to talk to Natasha. Bucky looked at his watch. Three minutes to go.

There were actual damn butterflies in his stomach which was stupid. Bucky knew Steve had chosen the bathrooms because it was the only area the cameras weren’t allowed. But any of the other contestants could easily follow them in, so it wasn’t exactly safe. 

Bucky read the text again. _The second stall_. Oddly specific. Maybe he was leaving a note or something. No, that’s stupid; he would have just texted him. 

One minute.

Oh fuck it, he was going now. He got up and made sure no one was following before slipping into the main bathroom area where the sinks and long mirror were. No one was there. 

Of course the only other reason Bucky could come up with was that Steve was meeting him in the second stall. It all felt very _high school_. 

Bucky hesitated at the second stall, looked back just to make sure no one was watching and opened the door.

It was empty.

Bucky let out a breath, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. Each of the bathrooms was larger than the average stall since they also contained standing showers with glass doors and a tall towel rack. There was about a foot of space on the top and bottom on either wall where the room connected with the other bathrooms; it was enough to let out the hot air when showering that the ceiling vent didn’t. Bucky waited.

“Hey.”

“FUCK.” Bucky threw his back against the wall and stared wide-eyed at Steve. Steve whose head had just materialized by the floor of the bathroom, sticking out from the first bathroom stall into Bucky’s stall.

Steve laughed. “You sure spook easy, don’t you?” Steve said. He started wiggling, clearly trying to fit through the foot of space into Bucky’s bathroom.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bucky asked, deadpan.

“Coming over.”

“You’re gonna get stuck.”

“Nonsense,” Steve grunted out. He’d reached his chest and was quickly coming to that very conclusion.

“And I’m not explaining how this happened,” Bucky continued, pointing at Steve.

Steve let out a breath. “Okay.” He looked a little sad. This clearly had been a plan he was very proud of. 

Bucky rubbed his forehead as Steve maneuvered himself back into his own bathroom. A moment later there came a knock at Bucky’s door. He opened it. 

“Hi,” Bucky said trying to stifle a laugh.

“Ah, shut up,” Steve said. “I was being careful. Just in case one of those camera people decided to follow!” 

“They’re not allowed to follow us in here,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve leaned against the door and folded his arms. “Yeah, well, someone’s been leaking information. About you, about Natasha, about Tony and Pepper. Someone isn’t following the rules. So. Better safe than sorry.”

Steve had a point. If that information had stayed secret, _Hell’s Kitchen_ could have cashed in during advertising for the show. Now that it was public, they couldn’t break the story. Someone on the show was leaking information. That was mildly disconcerting.

“You know I don’t actually care if people know,” Bucky said. 

Steve studied Bucky’s face for a moment. “You sure?” he asked. “I figured a whole day in the spotlight might have turned you off from the whole thing.”

“It’s not like I’m coming out as a… Well, I can’t think of anything worse than mobster. They already know I’m gay.” Bucky paused. “Are you… okay with this?” Bucky felt his face grow hot. If he were being honest, he’d much rather be making out than talking about their _whatever this was_. 

Steve grinned widely. “Very okay. Can we figure this out later?” In one swift motion he’d grabbed the front of Bucky’s jacket and tugged him forward so their lips crashed, messy and uninhibited.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a kiss this good. Mostly because he wasn’t plastered at some bar macking on some guy whose name he didn’t even know (or care to know, for that matter). Making _connections_ , making _friends_ hadn’t been on his to-do list since he’d escaped Rovshan’s grasp. He’d had to rediscover who _he_ was before he could think about getting to know anyone else.

But this… This was different. This was new and welcome and it felt _right_ the way Steve threaded his fingers through the hair on the back of Bucky’s neck, tugging lightly at the hairs there and forcing a groan out of him. The way he tasted like strawberries, the way his hips fit with Bucky’s perfectly, the way his chest felt under Bucky’s hands...

“Hey Интер-мальчики!”

Bucky almost bit Steve’s lip but pulled back. Steve’s eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed a light red, his lips pink and wet. _God, he was beautiful_. 

“We’re heading down,” Natasha said. “Make yourselves presentable.” They heard her leave.

“What’d she call us?” Steve asked as he smoothed back his hair.

“Fuckboys,” Bucky replied, taking his own hair out of a ponytail and pushing back again.

Steve laughed at that. “Sorry,” he said.

“Sorry?” Bucky repeated, incredulous. 

“Bad timing. You look… Well, you look hot. But I don’t think Ramsay’ll agree.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Bucky replied with a smirk. 

“We’d better go.” Steve went first, checking to see if the coast was clear before ushering Bucky out afterward.

They practically ran downstairs. Loki grimaced at their tardiness but Ramsay hadn’t arrived yet so they were saved any public embarrassment. Sam raised an eyebrow at Steve but he just shook his head.

Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat when he thought about Steve telling Sam. Which was ridiculous seeing as he’d just told Steve he didn’t give a shit if people knew. And in theory he didn’t. Why should he give a shit about what people thought? The problem was, and he’d only just realized this, but he _did_ care what these people thought. Some more than others. If Sam didn’t approve, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Of course it wouldn’t. But Sam was Steve’s friend and Steve was Bucky’s… _whatever_. So it mattered.

For some fucking idiotic reason it _mattered_. Bucky had this overwhelming need to have their _whatever_ accepted by Sam. Like Bucky was the ex-convict from next door asking Steve’s dad for his blessing. 

Bucky stopped that train of thought right there. If he was thinking about marriage, even metaphorically, he was in way too deep.

“The Wedding March” started to play. 

Bucky made a little noise in the back of his throat, thinking (not for the first time) that his vivid and _terrible_ imagination had gotten loose in reality and was spilling out into Hell’s Kitchen. 

But instead a man and a woman descended the stairs followed by Ramsay. 

“Good morning,” Ramsay said and stood in front of the two teams who were in front of the pass in the dining room. “Tonight is a very special night. As you may have guessed already, we’ve got a wedding party coming in and you will be serving them. To go along with our traditional Hell’s Kitchen menu, I’ve added a special of a delicious red lobster tail served over angel hair pasta. I expect this dinner service to go perfectly as Kim and Rodney,” Ramsay indicated the couple behind him, “will be judging the food as it comes out along with their wedding guests.”

“This morning, however,” Ramsay continued, “we’ll be doing something a little less formal for our team challenge. Follow me.”

They did so, following Ramsay out the front doors and into the parking lot where a large obstacle course was set up. 

Tire hopping, carrying eggs on a spoon, a tricycle hilariously too small - it was like field day all over again. At the end of the race were a pile of raw burgers ready to be grilled to a perfect medium rare and then judged by Chef Ramsay. 

The blue team had been doing exceptionally well until-

“CLINT, IF YOU DROP ANOTHER FUCKING EGG I’LL KILL YOU!” Sam shouted.

Clint was surprised to hear his name and turned to look at Sam, causing egg number three to drop and smash dramatically on the pavement. Clint looked down at it. “Aww, egg.”

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Sam yelled again.

“Take a walk, Sam,” Steve said with a huge grin; he was clearly getting a real kick out of this.

“I thought he was supposed to be a therapist or something,” Bucky said as Clint received another egg and placed it on the metal spoon.

“I’m sure if there were such a thing as competitive therapy, he’d get just as worked up.”

“Well thank god there isn’t, then,” Bucky said.

Steve made an appreciative noise and then started clapping and yelling enthusiastically as Clint _finally_ made it to the finish line. 

Clint looked down at the tricycle warily. “Do I really have to do this?” he shouted at no one in particular.

“GET YOUR SKINNY WHITE ASS ON THAT DAMN TRICYCLE OR SO HELP ME GOD!” Sam was back.

Bucky laughed as Clint did as he was told, pedaling awkwardly in a snake formation toward the grille. Kate was close behind, pedaling like a champ and she rammed right into Clint, knocking him off the bike sideways. 

“ _Kaaaaaate_ ,” he whined.

“Bye, loser!” she called back.

Clint finally made it to the finish line and grilled a perfect burger on the first try, but it was already too late for the blue team. The red team was about to finish, Maria already biking her way enthusiastically toward the grille and Bruce hadn’t even started (which he didn’t seem too down about). 

“Red team wins!” Ramsay announced soon after.

For their punishment, the blue team had to set up the dining room for the wedding, decorating the tables and chairs with white tulle and flowers, lugging pounds and pounds of ice from the truck in the back, and preparing the actual food to be cooked that night. They gave Clint ice duty since he’d been the sole reason for their loss. Bruce and Sam were in the dining room laying down tablecloths and cutting tulle, which left Steve and Bucky in the kitchen.

The camera people had grown less interested in Bucky lately since it had become apparent he wasn’t in any danger of assassinating anyone anytime soon. 

He and Steve chatted about some of their favorite foreign dishes (Steve’s was kielbasa and pierogies and Bucky’s Russian pelmeni) and their favorite places ever visited (Steve loved Kazakhstan and Bucky talked about Lake Baikal in length). They talked about where they’d lived and famous people they’d met and even touched on politics (Steve was shockingly liberal given his strict upbringing).

“So, you’ve been back for 2 years now, right?” Steve asked. He was chopping carrots methodically as Bucky shucked scallops over the sink.

Bucky nodded.

“What’d you do? I mean, besides Hell’s Kitchen.”

Bucky hesitated and Steve noticed. “Sorry,” Steve said quickly. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Bucky said. “I just… didn’t do much, that’s all. Or… I don’t know. It was a lot of… acclimating.”

Steve nodded. 

“It was hard,” Bucky said quieter, almost to himself. “Didn’t have any family, any friends to fall back onto when I came back.”

“You had to start over with nothing,” Steve said. It grew quiet. “You never looked for your family? You weren’t even curious?”

The question was surprising. As a child, Bucky had thought about his parents a lot, but after so much time it became silly to pine after something that didn’t really exist. At least not in the sense that Bucky had really wished for - a loving mom and dad who had only accidentally given up Bucky and it was all a big misunderstanding and they’d show up and take him to a big house with his own bed and siblings who would play with him all the time…

“No,” Bucky answered truthfully. “Besides, I made my own family at the orphanage.”

Steve raised an eyebrow in response.

“My sister,” Bucky said. “At least, that’s what I call her. _Called_ her,” he corrected himself. “We grew up together at the orphanage. Got placed in a few homes together, but we were always back before we could get too comfy.”

“What happened?” Steve asked.

Bucky sighed. “Well, I went to Russia. We kept in contact. Wrote letters. She actually got adopted and then we could call one another on the phone.” Bucky smiled at the thought. “When I got older, started working with Rovshan, I actually got to see her on my trips to America.” His smile faltered. “And then,” he continued, “after everything with Rovshan… Well, I wasn’t exactly the same person anymore. I don’t blame her for cutting me out.” Bucky had wanted it to sound nonchalant but it came off sounding pathetic and whiny.

He didn’t blame her. The way he was - no, the way Rovshan had _made him_ \- he would’ve hated his own company, too. He’d been cruel, unflinching and malicious. There wasn’t room for compassion or love or family. Even for her.

“What’s her name?” Steve asked. He was no longer chopping carrots, instead staring at Bucky with concern.

“Rebecca.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Steve was still staring at him when Bucky looked over. Last week, these questions would’ve had Bucky climbing the walls and giving not-so-idle threats, but now he wanted nothing more than to open up, cameras be damned.

“Four years? And not since I’ve been back,” Bucky said and went back to shucking. 

“I mean, if you really were a different person, won’t she want to know that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, if it were me-”

“But it’s not, so you don’t know,” Bucky snapped. He regretted it immediately. He didn’t need to look at Steve’s face to know he’d hurt his feelings. “Sorry,” Bucky muttered. 

“No. My fault. Shouldn’t’ve…” He trailed off.

They worked in silence for the last twenty minutes until they were allowed a break and headed up to the dorms. Clint immediately faceplanted into the couch and fell asleep. Sam went to the fridge and started pulling out things to make leftovers. Bruce disappeared into the bedroom either to read or sleep in peace. Bucky itched for some fresh air so he made his way out onto the balcony. Steve wasn’t far behind.

“I’m really sorry, Buck,” he started.

“Stop apologizing,” Bucky said with a sigh. “Really. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Steve stared at him a moment and Bucky gave him the most sincere smile he could muster. Steve smiled back, appeased for the time being. “Well, I’ll, uh, leave you alone then,” Steve said.

He turned to go but Bucky touched his arm and he stopped. “If you go, then who the hell am I going to admit my deepest, darkest secrets to so the rest of the world can exploit my private life for their personal gain?” 

Steve laughed and the tension visibly eased out of his shoulders. “Well, far be it from me to stop you making terrible decisions.”

Bucky leaned forward over the railing and let out a breath. Steve joined him, pressing against Bucky’s arm with his own. He felt a rush of warmth, an astounding sensation of happiness that traveled all the way up his spine and settled in his chest cavity somewhere.

“Wedding dinner service tonight,” Steve said. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’ll be just like any other dinner service, really.”

“Except two recently married people are going to be judging the food we make. Our food could, ultimately, decide their fate together!” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt that,” he said. He paused. “Have you ever been married?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “No. You?”

Bucky let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No.” A pause. “What about Peggy?”

Steve leaned back and the sudden disappearance of warmth was striking. But Steve turned around and rested his back against the railing instead, once again pressed close to Bucky. 

Steve let out a breath. “I would’ve, I think,” he mused. “But it was… complicated.” He shrugged and looked at Bucky with a smile. “Her loss, right?”

Bucky almost rolled his eyes again, but instead he shook his head and looked down at the street with a smile.

  


* * *

  


They were in the middle of dinner service, the commotion almost soothing to Bucky’s nerves. It was something to focus on, to pay attention to instead of Steve. Because right now Steve was incredibly distracting. 

He wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. He wasn’t even doing anything differently. But the way he held the pan, opened the oven, called out the time - it was driving Bucky mad. Which is how he knew he was way in over his head. 

So the loudness of the kitchen, the speeding bodies, and clanging pots and pans were a welcome distraction.

It didn’t help that Bucky was on garnish. Check the temperature, stir, listen for Clint to drop the scallops, stir…

“Clint, did you drop the scallops?” Bucky asked for the third time. 

“What?”

“The scallops,” Bucky said as calmly as he could. He glared at Clint. Clint didn’t seem to notice. He lifted the top off a pan.

“Aw, yeah. Totally did.”

Bucky groaned. “Clint, you have got to tell me.”

“Yeah, man, I will.”

“You said that the last _three times_ ,” Bucky snapped. 

Sam looked up from cutting into the wellingtons.

“Shit, man,” Clint said. “Calm down.”

Bucky took a deep breath and gripped the metal counter until his knuckles were white. 

“Clint, just tell him next time, okay?” Steve said.

Bucky looked up and felt the anger dissipate only to be replaced by something else entirely.

“Dude, I said I would,” Clint replied.

Dinner service went on. Clint still forgot to warn Bucky more than once, but Bucky kept up anyway, saving his own ass if not Clint’s. Ramsay saw that Clint wasn’t communicating and forced him up to the pass to expedite. Clint failed miserably and got Ramsay so upset he was kicked out. Nearly at the end of service, someone else was kicked out of the red kitchen, Ramsay shouting about raw lamb and laziness.

Regardless, the blue team lost and they were told to nominate two people for elimination based on all services.

“Clint,” Bucky said immediately as the blue team gathered around the table in the dorms.

“Well, I’m voting for Bucky,” Clint said, folding his arms across his chest.

“Fuck you!” Bucky snapped.

“Hey, hey, all right,” Steve said holding out his hands. “We’re gonna do this democratically, okay? Bruce, who are you putting up?”

Bruce looked pensive and he stared around at the group. “Clint,” he said. “And Bucky.”

Bucky grunted but didn’t say anything.

“Fine,” Steve said. “Clint?”

“Bucky,” he said.

“Who else?” 

“You.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Steve cut him off: “Fine. Sam?”

Sam took a moment. “Clint,” he said. “And Bucky. Sorry, man. It’s your temper. You gotta chill.”

Bucky bit his tongue. Arguing with Sam wasn’t going to help his case.

“Bucky, who do you want to put up?” Steve asked, turning to look at him.

“Clint.”

“And?”

“Clint.”

“You have to pick two.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine. Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head, a sardonic smile on his face.

“Okay.”

“Who are you voting for?” Clint asked, angrily looking at Bucky. Bucky glared right back.

“You,” Steve said. “And Bucky.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky had been up for elimination before, but it had never hurt this bad. Almost immediately after Steve had cast his vote, they were called downstairs. Steve avoided his eye the whole time, and then Bucky was standing in front of Ramsay.

He stated his case along with Clint and Ramsay deliberated for a good five minutes.

“Bucky,” he said. Bucky’s blood turned to ice in his veins. If he left now, because Steve had put him up… Well, it pretty much felt like the end of all things. “Get back in line. But you have got to control yourself.”

Bucky let out a breath and went back.

“Now before I make a decision, I want to see one more person up here. Kate.”

Kate scoffed and joined Clint. The two exchanged a look.

“Why do you think you should stay in Hell’s Kitchen?” Ramsay asked.

Kate explained her willingness to learn, her determination and drive, about how her lack of experience wasn’t any indication of her ability to perform well. It was as good a speech as any and Ramsay looked pained when he made the announcement: “You both… are leaving Hell’s Kitchen.”

He told them he was looking for someone who was willing to both listen to direction as well as give it and they both failed miserably at one or the other. (It wasn’t hard to guess which.) 

They removed their jackets and after thanking Chef for the opportunity, they high-fived and walked through the doors together.

  


* * *

  


Bucky let out a long breath and leaned over the railing to stare at the dark street below. He put his chin on his arms and closed his eyes. He heard the sliding glass door open and close behind him, and he didn’t have to look to guess who it was.

“Bucky…”

“It’s fine, Steve.”

Silence. Steve walked forward so he was standing next to him, hands gripping the railing. “It’s not fine,” Steve said. “But I had to.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. He stood up straight and looked at Steve. “It’s a competition, Steve. I’m not under any impression that just cause we’re… _friends_ that I’ll get special treatment.” Bucky knew what he was saying was true but he didn’t feel it, couldn’t bring himself to really believe it. He looked away and spotted a cameraman standing just inside filming them. Bucky sighed.

Steve actually smiled. “It’s nice that you know that, Buck, but it’s not why I did it.”

Bucky frowned at him.

“I had to make sure they knew I was totally impartial before I did this.” Steve took a step forward and kissed Bucky.

Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, aware that the camera was getting a really good angle and that there was no talking his way out of this one. In fact, now that it was happening, Bucky may as well go for it; he kissed him back and Steve actually smiled into it.

“I could’ve been _eliminated_!” Bucky yelled suddenly, pushing lightly on Steve’s chest.

“I knew you could defend yourself,” he said with a grin. “And, like I said, I’m impartial.”

“Asshole.” But Bucky couldn't help but smile.


	5. Seven Chefs Compete

Bucky honestly had no intention of being That Guy on the reality TV show whose entire life was fodder for the audience’s amusement and who consistently created drama so no one would forget who he was.

But here he was, stuck inside a cramped room with a camera just feet away from his face and answering questions like “How long have you and Steve been together?”, “Have you done anything inside Hell’s Kitchen?”, “How far have you gone?”, and “Is this all a ploy just to win?”

Bucky was close to snapping. He’d punch the interviewer if she didn’t look so damn bored with the questions. At least she wasn’t getting satisfaction out of this…

Once the interview was over, Bucky headed back to the dorm and sat defeatedly on the couch. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”

Bucky looked up at Steve who was standing in front of him with one hand on his hip.

“Are you kidding?” Bucky said. He moved to the side so Steve could sit next to him. There was a good six inches between them but Steve’s presence was nearly electric. It didn’t help that no less than three cameras were trained on them at that very moment.

“Did they ask you whether we fucked in the pantry?” Steve asked. There was a glint in Steve’s eye as he smiled.

“No. Wait. What? Why would they-?”

“I may have hinted at some things,” Steve said innocently.

Bucky groaned. “You didn’t.”

Steve laughed. “It’s exciting! Hey, either we spread the rumors or someone else does. This way I get to say when and where and how har-”

“Okay, stop, stop,” Bucky said putting up a hand.

“Yes, please, stop,” Sam said and sat down in the armchair adjacent to them. “This whole debacle is a nightmare for us, too, y’know? I got asked 10 different ways if I knew about you two assholes. Which, by the way, I didn’t and I am horribly betrayed by that.” He feigned getting stabbed in the heart and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I knew it was a matter of time before everyone knew anyway,” Steve said. There was a short pause before Steve stood. “Breakfast,” he said. “You want something?” He looked at Bucky who shook his head.

Once Steve was out of earshot, Sam leaned forward and looked at Bucky keenly. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me the truth,” he said. His eyes darted over to Steve and then back to Bucky. “He a good lay? I mean, it must be magical, right? Look at that body.”

Bucky rubbed his eyes. His headache was quickly gaining migraine status.

Sam sat back and laughed. “I’m just kidding, man. I mean, I’m not. But I am. Honestly, you guys are great together. Really bad timing, if you ask me, considering you’re opponents competing for a job, but hey. We can’t all have the perfect romance, can we?”

It grew quiet and Sam pulled out his tablet. Bucky hadn’t even bothered to look; he was sure the tabloids were full of lovely, homophobic articles and he wasn’t prepared to read them without threat to his phone’s wellbeing.

“Hey Sam, can I ask you something?” The words were out of Bucky’s mouth before he could stop himself. He knew this was a bad idea, but it had bothered him since Steve had first kissed him in the pantry.

Sam grunted a reply, but didn’t look up from his tablet.

“You know Steve better than anyone here,” Bucky started.

Sam let out a sharp laugh. “Not as good as you, apparently,” he said, glancing up at Bucky.

“I mean, you’ve talked to him. Whatever. And he- I mean, there was Peggy. And then he asked out Sharon?” Bucky regretted starting this conversation immediately as the grin grew wide across Sam’s face.

“What, you worried he’s a closet case or something?” Sam asked.

“No!” Bucky replied immediately. Steve was clearly too comfortable with the televised PDA for that to be true. “I just… I’m not sure-”

“What are we talking about?” 

Bucky blanched as Steve came over with a bowl of cereal and an apple in one hand.

“Bucky’s wondering why you’re such a slut,” Sam said. 

A noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan escaped Bucky and Steve looked at him with an amused expression on his face. He chewed thoughtfully before saying, “You worried you have competition?”

“No,” Bucky said and threw a glare at Sam for good measure, but he was already distracted by his tablet again. “Never mind. Sam’s just being an asshole.”

Steve nodded a few times, but didn’t look entirely convinced. Bucky excused himself to the kitchen.

“Trouble in paradise?” Natasha was seated at the breakfast bar with a cup of yogurt and a newspaper. Upon closer inspection, Bucky realized it was in Russian. He wasn’t even going to ask how she got it.

“No comment,” Bucky said bitterly. 

“You’re an idiot,” Maria said. 

Bucky stared at her. He wasn’t sure she had ever directly spoken to him before and now this? 

“What?” he said.

“This is a cooking competition,” she said. “Not dating.”

“Ugh, whatever Maria,” Darcy chimed in from where she was sitting just across from Natasha. She wasn’t even dressed in her chef coat yet. “You’re just jealous. You’re really cute together,” she added, pointing her fork with a bit of pancake on it at Bucky.

“Uh. Thanks,” Bucky said.

“It’s stupid,” Maria continued, “because at some point one of you will be here while the other gets eliminated. Almost happened last night, didn’t it? And then what?” She looked at him expectantly. Bucky glanced at Natasha for help, but she was very distracted by something in the newspaper.

“Yeah, I don’t… Where the hell is Bruce?” Bucky needed to be somewhere and wherever Bruce was, it was bound to be quiet.

Darcy motioned toward the balcony and Bucky excused himself again. He opened the door and Bruce turned to look at him.

“Do you mind if I-?” Bucky asked.

Bruce shook his head and Bucky smiled gratefully, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the cool air.

“Sorry. It’s just… everyone is being crazy,” Bucky said.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Bucky let out a long breath. He liked Bruce a lot. He liked that he was quiet and resigned and disinterested in most things and that he didn’t give a shit if Bucky was making out with one of his team members. It was, apparently, a rare quality. He also really liked that there was no need to fill the silence with idle chatter. 

Several peaceful minutes passed and were only interrupted when Natasha rapped on the glass door to let them know they’d been called downstairs. As Bruce passed Bucky, he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a small smile. Bucky actually felt better for it.

  


* * *

  


“Dark spaces and I don’t get on very well,” Bruce said to no one in particular.

Bucky glanced at him with a frown, but Bruce stared straight ahead at the tent that was sitting in the middle of the dining area. Steve was inside and, judging by the loud clang that sounded, wasn’t doing too well in their challenge. Their goal was to go into the pitch-dark tent, grab six ingredients without knowing what they are except by touch, and then make some sort of dish with all or some of the ingredients. They had two short minutes to look.

Bucky had fared well, landing himself a steak and halibut - he was currently coming up with some surf and turf dish while Steve, Bruce, and Sam had their hand at the dark tent of culinary surprises.

Bruce shifted from foot to foot nervously.

“It’s fine,” Bucky said. “You’ll be fine. Wasn’t that hard.”

Bruce didn’t seem to hear him and Steve stumbled out just as the buzzer sounded looking dazed but triumphant. His basket looked full and heavy as he made his way over to the pass to put it down. 

The timer was reset and Bruce hesitantly made his way into the tent following cheers and applause from Steve, Sam, and Bucky. Thirty seconds hadn’t passed before Bruce burst out of the tent looking harried and red in the face. He rushed to the pass and put his own basket down next to Steve’s before rejoining the blue team with a relieved huff.

Sam was next and he readied himself, hands by his sides and one foot braced forward like a sprinter. “Gonna tear that damn tent a new one,” he muttered.

Steve laughed and clapped Sam on the back just as the timer started counting down. Sam ran into the tent. “Shit,” he yelled, followed by a loud thud that sounded a lot like a body hitting something solid.

Steve couldn’t stop laughing, even through all the hooting and the clapping. The red team, who had their own tent right next to the blue team’s, had also sent their last person in and Darcy was cursing up a storm inside the darkness.

Sam emerged as the buzzer sounded with wide eyes and out of breath. Still, his haul looked good and they set to work preparing their dishes.

This particular challenge meant more to the competitors than any other challenge had so far. This was the challenge where one chef would receive their black jacket and Bucky had every intention of being the chef who beat out all the others so he could sit on the throne and get it. He wanted that black jacket, he wanted the throne, he wanted Steve to stop flexing his bicep every time he picked up three pans at a time.

“Bucky, your fish.” Bucky broke from his reverie. Sam was staring at him, eyebrows raised.

“Shit.” Bucky quickly removed the halibut from the stove just as the flames licked up and around the crackling oil on the surface. He threw a wet towel on top and waited for the flames to die down before putting his fish back on. “Thanks, Sam,” he said.

“Yeah, sure thing, man,” Sam replied with a small, wary smile. He was eyeing Bucky like he’d just said something strange, but Bucky decided to ignore it in favor of checking the temp on his porterhouse. 

Steve was being unusually quiet, perhaps due to his distance from his regular talking partner, Sam. 

Forty minutes wasn’t nearly long enough, yet somehow they all finished their plates and had them up at the pass by the time Chef called time.

First up was Darcy versus Steve. Steve’s stuffed pork with corn hash won over Darcy’s slightly undercooked salmon and wild rice, giving Steve the throne and a shot at the black jacket. Bruce went up next and although it was a tough call, Chef let Steve keep his seat. Steve answered with a whoop and a raised fist. Sam rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed.

Natasha went up to be judged next. Her pasta dish with handmade alfredo sauce almost made Ramsay cry with joy, effectively giving her the throne. She sauntered over to a saddened Steve and took her place with a smirk. 

Both Sam and Maria failed to beat Natasha’s perfect dish. Bucky went last, offering up his plate to Ramsay and by some miracle, Ramsay actually loved it. He praised Bucky’s ability to cook both the steak and seafood to the perfect temperature and how the plating was simple but still colorful and eye-catching.

Bucky got the chair and, more importantly, the jacket. The blue team clapped appreciatively while the red team glared and muttered. Darcy said something that made Natasha guffaw. Bucky ignored them; he had a goddamn black jacket. Nothing could bring him down now.

Ramsay congratulated him once more after Bucky had traded his blue for black. Then, he announced the prize: a trip to San Francisco’s Knives Galore, a store that boasted the best collection of designer, authentic, and vintage knives in the world. 

And Bucky was allowed to choose one person to tag along. He actually considered Bruce for a second, half because he was grateful for his mere existence in this otherwise ridiculous competition, and half because he wanted to get back at Steve for the whole impartiality thing he’d pulled the previous night. But the opportunity to walk the San Fran streets with Steve was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  


* * *

  


Steve smiled at Bucky and Bucky tried not to act as gleeful as he really, truly felt at that moment. It was a beautiful late summer day in San Francisco and the streets were busy with people rushing to lunch or work. Usually crowds had Bucky on edge and he was still hyperaware of every brush and nudge from passersby, but Steve’s presence at his side made it bearable somehow.

The best part by far was that they were being followed by only one camera, one cameraman, and not even a single interviewer or boom operator. It was a godsend. 

They were headed directly to Knives Galore, having been dropped off by a cab three blocks early on accident (no thanks to Steve’s direction-giving), but Bucky didn’t mind.

He especially didn’t mind when Steve’s hand brushed his own, asking permission before clasping Bucky’s gently. It was all so domestic and Bucky loved it. 

Something nagged at the back of Bucky’s mind, something about Steve’s behavior that seemed muted and resigned. Bucky chalked it up to his own nerves, his own broken psychosis that had him paranoid and twitchy.

Steve was dressed in the deepest blue polo shirt that hugged his broad chest and arms so tightly it was probably illegal in some countries. Bucky caught himself staring more than once; it was difficult not to, as demonstrated by the multitude of women from every walk of life who openly gawked at him. Steve seemed not to notice, of course.

As they reached a stoplight and waited for the light to change, Steve looking around distractedly, Bucky noticed they’d somehow gotten ahead of their camera guy. He hesitated for just a second before yanking Steve forward into the crosswalk. 

Steve dug in his heels. “Bucky-!” he shouted. Bucky stopped, but their hands were still clasped.

“You want to lose the camera guy or not?” Bucky asked with a smirk.

Steve stared blankly at Bucky for a moment before looking both ways and running out into traffic, Bucky close behind. They stopped at the median for just a moment, again watching for speeding cars before racing across. They barely made it, a sedan honking at them angrily as they sprinted onto the sidewalk.

Steve let out a laugh as Bucky caught his breath, one hand against a wall. He pulled Steve toward him by the back of his pants. Steve looked surprised, but then Bucky flipped the mic switch off and Steve grinned at him.

“Well, let’s go,” Bucky said. A cursory glance backward showed the cameraman had caught sight of them, but he was only just starting to cross the street, and lugging that massive camera was going to slow him down.

Bucky jogged forward, Steve close at his heels. He turned into a short alley that led into the parallel street. A few more turns and Bucky was sure they’d lost the cameraman. Finally, he made a left down an empty street, pushed Steve against the wall and kissed him roughly. It was a needy kiss, Bucky’s tongue sliding in and caressing Steve’s own without pretense. Steve let out a little groan when Bucky pulled back a little to bite at his bottom lip.

Steve put his hands on Bucky’s chest and pushed lightly. Steve’s pupils were blown and his lips already deep pink. “Wait, Buck,” Steve breathed.

“What?” Bucky licked his lips eagerly.

“You need to know something,” he said.

Bucky took a small step back and Steve ran a hand down the front of his shirt.

“What is it?” Bucky asked. He steeled himself. A million different thoughts raced through his head, the worst of which invaded his mind and stopped his heart. Steve didn’t want him, Steve didn’t want this, Steve had only been doing it for the cameras, Steve wasn’t even into guys, Steve was actually dating Sharon and Bucky had been some twisted ploy to win, Steve was working with the mafia to humiliate Bucky and-

“Bucky?” 

Bucky snapped back to attention. He hadn’t realized he was breathing so heavily, one hand digging into the front of his shirt. 

“You okay?” Steve asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and it helped ground Bucky. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Steve said it with a little laugh and the sound instantly lifted a great deal of tension from Bucky’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” Bucky breathed. “Sorry, I just have… fatalistic thinking issues.”

“All right,” Steve said slowly. “Look, I just think you should know that I don’t… This isn’t usually what I _do_.”

Bucky stared blankly at Steve. “Guys?” Bucky asked.

Steve laughed lightly. “No, no. Guys I’ve had plenty of practice with. I mean, the whole thing with Sam this morning. You asked him about Sharon, didn’t you?”

Bucky frowned. “Sam was just being an idiot. I don’t actually think you’re…” He trailed off.

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Not that there’s anything wrong with that? I’m just not that kinda guy. Y’know, I like _being in relationships_. For as long as possible.” He gave Bucky a pointed look before letting out a long breath and leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “When this is all over, I’d like to see you.”

Bucky’s heart hammered against his ribcage and his throat felt unbelievably dry. He opened his mouth to reply, but Steve stuck up a hand.

“Don’t say anything now,” Steve said. “I’m not under any impression that is anything more than _fun_ for now. And it is fun. I like hanging out with you.” There was a smile tugging at his lips, but it was tinged with sadness. “Just think about it. And if you never want to see me again after this, that’s totally fine with me.”

Bucky stared at Steve incredulously. Steve seemed to take that as some kind of answer, so he pushed off the wall with a small, sad smile. “Let’s go get us some knives, huh?” he said and started walking away.

Bucky’s feet finally caught up with his brain and he lurched forward to grab Steve’s wrist. “I don’t have to think about it,” Bucky said.

Steve stopped and raised an eyebrow in question.

“I want to see you. After this. After the show, I mean. I’d like that.” 

Confusion, trepidation, then pure happiness all graced Steve’s face in a manner of seconds as the reply left Bucky’s lips. It was wonderful to watch and Bucky kissed the smile right off Steve’s face.

  


* * *

  


Steve and Bucky returned to Hell’s Kitchen with 500 dollars worth of knives each, a pissed off producer, and the biggest smiles plastered on their faces.

Dinner service was going to be a breeze if Bucky’s mood kept up. He felt like he could do anything, and slipping back into that black jacket felt like the best thing in the world, like it was made specifically for him. (Never mind that it actually was - they had taken the contestants’ measurements on day one.)

And dinner service did go well. But somewhere between Sam yelling out times and Bruce fucking up a pan of risotto, Darcy found her way over to Bucky on the fish station. 

“Listen, I just wanted to say-”

“What the hell are you doing over here?” Bucky glanced up at the pass, but Ramsay and Loki were both busy checking food while Thor could be heard telling a joke in the red kitchen.

“Maria’s an idiot,” Darcy said. Then Bucky watched, horrified, as she took a raw green bean out of a colander that had been placed to the side, ate it, and then licked the salt off her fingers. “And I just wanted to say that you and Steve are really good together and not to listen to her.”

Steve had finally noticed her presence and his unreadable gaze flicked from Darcy to Bucky, then back again. 

“Thanks?” Bucky said.

“I just think it’s really important to have some representation out there, y’know? On TV?” She shrugged and crossed her arms. “Besides, I never take anything Maria says seriously. Turns out she listens to Creed and Nickelback. _Unironically_.” 

Bucky wasn’t even entirely sure what that meant, but he nodded slightly in the hopes that Darcy would leave sooner.

“DARCY!” Ramsay’s voice boomed over the background commotion and she rolled her eyes. Well, she was brave - Bucky would give her that much.

After a good scolding from Ramsay up at the pass, she disappeared into the red kitchen and didn’t bother Bucky again. 

Bucky mulled over what Darcy had said. Representation? Honest to god, he had meant to snake his way through this competition and then come ahead like a dark horse, taking it all in one fell swoop. Now he was… an icon? That was idiotic. No one in their right mind would fashion themselves after _him_. In fact, it made him a little uncomfortable to think about - that some young kid would watch this and think being in the mafia was cool. If anything, Bucky was a warning: homosexuality corrupts everything, including Super Straight Steve, Decorated Veteran and Totally Hunky All-American Boy.

Bucky actually scoffed at that. He didn’t give a shit what other people thought - good or bad. This had been the most unfortunate place to find Steve, but Bucky was glad he had.

  


* * *

  


Darcy’s elimination didn’t come as a shock given who was left. Bucky could see that these people - these were the serious competitors. It dawned on him quite suddenly that winning this thing wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. After all, Maria and Bruce had legitimate training with a decade of professional cooking under their belts, Sam had the personality Ramsay was clearly looking for - friendly, patient, stubborn but able to fix mistakes quickly and efficiently. Natasha was scary talented, even if her background in the culinary arts was still a mystery to Bucky. And Steve was just damned good at what he did, despite considering himself a home cook.

For the first time, Bucky felt like the weak link and he feared for his position in the competition.

“Congratulations to you, the top six of Hell’s Kitchen,” Ramsay said. They applauded and Sam smiled and clapped Bucky on the back. Bucky gave a tentative smile. “I think, to celebrate, we need something really special.” At that, Fury walked through the big double doors pushing a clothes hanger. “Black jackets. Congratulations.” Another, louder round of applause sounded. 

They were called up one by one and presented with their jackets. “Tomorrow is going to be a big day for you,” Ramsay continued. “By the end of tomorrow night, we will be down to five chefs. You may have your black jackets, but for tomorrow’s dinner service, we need to even out the teams. Natasha and Maria, I want you to go back into the kitchen and come to a decision about who you would like to take from the men’s team.”

Natasha and Maria exchanged a look before heading into the back. The wait was agonizing. Bucky wasn’t sure who he’d miss more from the team. Right now they worked like a well-oiled machine; losing just one of the team could be detrimental.

They returned, Maria looking distinctly peeved. Natasha was straight-faced as ever when Ramsay asked her: “Have you come to a decision?” 

“We have, Chef,” Natasha replied.

“And who have you chosen to join your team?” Ramsay asked.

“Bucky, Chef.”

  


* * *

  


Being separated from his old team was hardly the worst thing that could’ve happened in this competition. The only trepidation Bucky felt was in regards to Maria who clearly didn’t like him. He hoped the change in scenery wasn’t going to completely trip him up. It’d be incredibly anticlimactic if he went through this whole ridiculous ordeal just to lose when they were all so close to the end.

Bucky stood over his favorite spot on the balcony. It was late and Steve had just finished his interview. He closed the glass door behind him and pressed in close to Bucky who sighed in response.

“Guess we’re really enemies now,” Steve said. 

Bucky snorted and shook his head. Steve slipped a hand around his waist and it warmed Bucky up instantly. It felt absolutely normal to be like this, to be so close and not care that cameras were trained on them, waiting for something incredibly dramatic to happen. Bucky was determined that the rest of the competition would go on without a hitch, as drama-free as a reality show could get.

And that’s when he saw it. White-blond hair in a crowd of people at the crosswalk, a flash of red.

Bucky tensed in Steve’s grip, his eyes wide and locked on the street below. 

“Bucky, what-?” Steve started, but Bucky turned and practically sprinted into the main room. A few people looked - Sam even stood up in surprise and opened his mouth to ask, but Bucky was already at the stairs, jumping the bottom four, landing deftly before slipping through the back doors and outside onto the street. 

He nearly crashed into a man wearing a suit. He apologized breathlessly and scanned the crowd. His mind was reeling and his left hand clenched and unclenched. He stepped further out into the street to see, his eyes scanning, becoming more and more frantic with every unfamiliar face he saw.

A horn blasted behind him and suddenly he was being yanked forward, back onto the sidewalk.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled. It was Steve, just Steve. Steve had pulled him out of the street. Steve had…

“Let go,” Bucky said and pulled his arm out of Steve’s grasp as he made to walk away, but then he stopped. It was no use. He was gone.

“Bucky, what the hell happened? What is it?” Steve was at his side again and Bucky took two long, deep breaths before answering.

“Emil,” Bucky said. “I saw Emil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a pretty solid grasp on how this shit is gonna end, so hang tight. There should be something like six or seven chapters left, but my track record with actually sticking to any number is dreadful, so that's tentative.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always.
> 
> And I've finally finished [my The Notebook Steve/Bucky AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1740209/chapters/3715031) if you're interested in being sad.


	6. Six Chefs Compete

_It’s dark out, but the half-moon gives him just enough light to see by, just enough to watch as Rovshan Janiev closes the back door of his mansion and sets the alarm system. It’s sophisticated, but he knows how to hack it. Not that he needs to; he has the code._

_He jumps down and is at the door in no time at all, letting himself in and locking the door behind him. If Rovshan hears him, he doesn’t care enough to come back downstairs. He doesn’t care enough to see if he’s okay, if he’s hurt, if the mission went as planned, if the subject is dead. (He is okay, he is not hurt, the mission was successful, and the subject is dead.)_

_Already the subject’s face is fading from his memory. It’s inconsequential. Unimportant._

_He sits at the dining room table. He waits. He has to wait. He cannot sleep, he cannot speak, he cannot use the bathroom - these things are not part of his training and he learned very early on that to deviate means severe punishment._

_It’s laughable now, to think about who he was nearly a year ago. Some scrappy kid with a chip on his shoulder who thought he could make something of himself._

_No, this is what he was always meant to be. Silent. Violent. A weapon. Rovshan’s weapon._

_The last traces of panic force their way up from his stomach and into his chest, a reminder that he is not as mechanic as he so desperately needs to be. He ignores it until it dissipates._

_He remembers how this goes: he waits for 7 hours, he receives new orders, and he heads out into the cold Russian winter air to carry them out. This is his schedule now, and it is the only thing that makes the panic stop. He must have orders, he must carry them out, he must return. Any changes, any broken rituals mean punishment, they mean blood and torture and neglect. Not that any of that matters. But he cannot work if he is too badly broken. Rovshan needs him to work._

_He remembers how this goes._

_But something’s different._

_There’s a knock at the door and he’s screaming at himself for standing, for walking, for opening the door, and most of all for feeling what he does when he sees who it is. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall and slight with full lips._

_Emil._

_He remembers how this goes and Emil is not supposed to be here. If Rovshan sees, he’ll -_

_But Emil is kissing him, he’s stripping off the kevlar and he’s dropping guns and knives and smoke bombs and grenades onto the hard linoleum and he knows Rovshan can hear, Rovshan knows that his brother is taking his weapon apart at the seams, knows that Emil is the malfunctioning cog in his well-oiled weaponry. Rovshan can’t know, Rovshan will kill him, Rovshan has no sympathy for friends and he doubts very strongly whether it’s any different for brothers._

_He doesn’t care. He can feel the panic rising, feel it pulsating in his chest, growing with every strained heartbeat to stop, he has to stop, they have to stop, they can’t do this, he has a mission, he has to follow orders or it’ll just get worse, he can’t take too long, can’t fuck this up, can’t do it. He can’t do it. He can’t do this, not to him, not to Emil. Emil is heat and warmth and safety._

_“What’s the matter, James?” Emil asks and his voice is like too-hot flames licking at his ear._

_He remembers how this goes. He remembers how this ends._

_“Emil,” he chokes out because the smoke is too thick in his lungs and there’s a joke here somewhere because Emil has always chided him about his smoking habits. The house is smaller, different, the floors chestnut and ash through the opaque atmosphere._

_He inhales deeply, he wants it to end, wants the panic to stop, but then someone has him by the shoulders and they’re shaking him so roughly. He doesn’t want them to. Please leave him here. He deserves this. It’s poetic, he thinks, dying in the fire he set to burn the last bridge he has._

_“Bucky, wake up.”_

_That’s not his name, he thinks, and he groans because the air is clear now and he’s not choking and that means he’s going to live. That can’t happen. Not after what he’s done…_

“Bucky!”

Bucky lurched forward into a sitting position, nearly knocking Steve off his bed. He breathed heavily, his right hand clutching at the fabric over his chest. 

Steve’s hand rubbed his back in small, lazy circles while Bucky grounded himself. He was Bucky Barnes, Hell’s Kitchen contestant in Los Angeles, California and he was currently being watched by Steve, Bruce, and Sam in their small dorm room. 

“Shit,” Bucky hissed.

“Hey, bad dream, man. We all get ‘em,” Sam said. He was sitting up in bed looking tired but the reassuring smile he gave Bucky touched his eyes. 

Someone had turned on the light and judging by Bruce leaning casually against the doorjamb, it had been him.

“I’m fine,” Bucky growled when Steve’s hand moved to his neck.

“Don’t seem fine,” Steve said softly, but he removed his hand all the same.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his forehead. He hadn’t had that particular dream in a while and it took him a moment to realize why it had come back to haunt him.

He had seen Emil. Or at least he thought he had. His mind had been known to play tricks on him before, but this was different. This had to be different because he had seen his face. Not for very long and not very clearly, but Bucky knew it had been him.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispered. He wasn’t sure what he was sorry for - waking everyone, having that dream, knowing full well that dream was mostly memory and he had tried to kill someone he had cared about so deeply. 

Steve’s hand found Bucky’s and it was warm and comforting. It helped ease the constricted feeling in his lungs. “It’s fine, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky finally looked up at Steve. He looked so much like Emil. He’d say that’s why he had pined after him in the first place and this was some weird replacement surrogate love except that Steve had kissed _him_. And their personalities were vastly different. 

Bucky and Emil had been cut from the same cloth - both calculating and cynical, charming when they had to be but otherwise not interested in people outside of their direct interest. Steve was… Well, he was Steve. He was exactly none of those things and more. Better. Steve was better than Bucky could ever hope to be.

After Bucky was sure his legs would hold him without shaking, he excused himself to the showers. It was only three in the morning, but the chances that Bucky would be able to fall back asleep were nonexistent at this point. He may as well do something useful.

He cooked breakfast: pancakes, bacon, sausage, the dozen eggs that were in the fridge. He ate what he could stomach, which wasn’t much, and then stared at the plates of food morosely. 

He tried to remember what had convinced him to come to this godforsaken place and do this competition. It wasn’t like he’d been a long-time fan. In fact, he had yet to watch a full episode. He’d seen the “must-see clips” from past seasons that Tony made them all watch. No, it had been a casting call flyer lodged between the wall and his door in his shitty apartment in D.C.

It had been a particularly bad day - he’d gone to work at the bar and had somehow gotten into three separate fights, all within two hours, and the boss had had enough. Bucky’s temper was more trouble than it was worth and he was fired.

“Do you have what it takes to run a kitchen? Are you a driven, enthusiastic individual with exceptional cooking skills? Audition to be on the world-renowned television show _Hell’s Kitchen_ with Gordon Ramsay.” The flyer went on to list the prize - a $250,000 salary and a full-time job. Bucky had scoffed at first, crumpling the paper in his hand and letting it fall into the over-full trashcan by the door. 

But he went to bed that night thinking about what it would be like to have a $250,000 salary and, more importantly, a stable job. It seemed ridiculous given his current temperament, but that was really only because he was unhappy with his predicament. Maybe if he left, maybe if he weren’t in a shitty apartment in D.C., then everything would be better.

Besides, what was one of the last things Emil had said to him before Bucky left for America - this time for good? _Find something you like to do, James. Like cooking! You’re such a good cook and you’re happy when you do it. You deserve to be happy._

He didn’t deserve shit, especially not from Emil, not after what he’d done - what he’d tried to do, anyway. But he did like cooking. And yeah, he was good at it. Probably better than anyone else who was going to try out for that bullshit show. And Emil had asked him to. If nothing else, Bucky Barnes was good at following orders.

  


* * *

  


No one asked any questions in the morning, but they did eagerly dig into the leftovers of Bucky’s early morning breakfast-making catharsis. Steve had even kissed him right on the mouth in front of everyone. (He tasted like coffee and mint and Bucky thought it was wonderful.)

By the time they were called downstairs, Emil was almost out of sight, out of mind. Almost. 

“This is the you taste it, now make it challenge,” Ramsay announced. Bucky might not have been running on full, but he was confident enough in his palate to do this and beat out all the other chefs who _had_ gotten full nights of sleep.

Bucky’s dish wasn’t nearly the best (Natasha’s had earned an astounding five stars), but it was pretty close. He and Maria both got fours. Sam was the only one on the other team that got a four, Bruce and Steve both receiving threes. 

Natasha won a trip into Calabasas to eat at The Six, an American restaurant and one of Chef’s favorites. But because Chef was preparing for a special dinner service (announcement to come - Bucky couldn’t wait), Natasha was asked to bring along one person.

Maria was the obvious choice, which was why Bucky didn’t quite believe it when his name came out of Natasha’s mouth.

“It’ll be fun!” she practically cooed at him as they made their way up the stairs and into the dorms to get dressed for a day of eating and drinking free food. 

“Yeah, I’m sure it will be. I just don’t think Maria’s too happy with your choice of companion.”

Indeed, Maria had looked downright livid. Whatever her deal with Bucky was, it apparently extended to people who liked Bucky. He wished he could blame her, but he was pretty much the sketchiest guy there and it wasn’t like he’d gone out of his way to be nice to anyone. Still, it felt a little unfounded. 

  


* * *

  


Calabasas was exactly the kind of place Bucky felt he belonged the least. He wouldn’t have pegged Natasha as the designer handbag type either, and yet there she was with sunglasses the size of her face and wearing the sharpest looking little black dress.

“I can’t wait until dinner service tonight,” Natasha said. She slipped her arm through Bucky’s whose hands were deep in his jacket pockets. He tried not to scowl at every little dog with a pink bow that they crossed paths with, but it was getting more and more difficult. 

“Why? Wait, you know what dinner service is? I thought it was a surprise,” Bucky said.

Natasha laughed lightly. “No secret is small enough to pass through my web.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. She did like melodrama. “So, what is it?”

She just smiled wider and he tried not to feel so _trapped_. “I’m not in the habit of giving away secrets,” she said. “Besides, you’ll ruin all the hard work Steve and Chef Ramsay and I put in just for you.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks. “What?” he said.

If you were to look up “wicked grin” in the dictionary, Bucky imagined the look Natasha was giving him then would come up. 

“What the hell did you do?” he snapped.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise, James. Oh look! We made it.” She slipped her arm out of Bucky’s and practically strutted toward The Six.

Bucky tried to calm his nerves by telling himself that since Steve was involved, it probably wasn’t terrible, and with Chef Ramsay involved, it probably wasn’t illegal. Still, what in god’s name could dinner service entail that would require three people with varying degrees of interest in him keeping a secret? Nothing good, Bucky decided. But it was no use; getting information out of Natasha would be a fool’s errand. He may as well just enjoy lunch.

  


* * *

  


“I need to speak with you.”

Steve looked up from chopping lettuce to see Bucky halfway between livid and panicked.

“Bucky? Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great, Steve. Now move.” Bucky pushed on his shoulder and Steve dropped the knife obligingly. 

Sam wolf-whistled and Steve actually grew redder as he was ushered through the back kitchen doors and into the pantry. Bucky shut the door behind them and crossed his arms.

“How was lunch with Natash-?” 

“What the hell is dinner service tonight?” Bucky cut in.

Steve stared at Bucky for an excruciatingly long time. “Did she tell y-?”

“No, she didn’t. And I told myself I wouldn’t care. That this is what she wants. She wants me to freak out, to think something terrible is going to happen. Because she knows, she knows how terrible I am with surprises. I don’t know _how_ she knows, but she does.” He was pacing and running a hand through his hair that he’d somehow forgotten to put back up when he came into the kitchen with more important things on his mind.

“I really can’t tell you, Bucky,” Steve said and he actually looked sorry for it. Bucky looked desperately at Steve. Steve sighed. “I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you it’s nothing terrible, nothing even remotely bad, and frankly I think it’s going to be great.”

“That doesn’t help,” Bucky said miserably. “I don’t understand why you get to know and I don’t.”

“Well, for one, I was told my contract with the show would be voided if I told you. Not entirely sure how serious Ramsay was about that, but I’m not one to toe the line.”

Bucky snorted a laugh at that.

“And secondly,” Steve continued, unperturbed, “I think the sheer surprise on your face is gonna be enough to get me through at least another day’s worth of Hell’s Kitchen cooking.”

“You are such a shit,” Bucky mumbled.

“Honestly though, Buck,” Steve said, and he placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “If it was anything even remotely stressful, I would tell you. But it’s not. You’ll be fine. You’ll be happy, hopefully. You gotta trust me.”

And looking into Steve’s blue eyes, Bucky did trust him. At least for the time being. And he felt the panic subside a little in his chest. Whatever this dinner service was, it couldn’t be nearly as bad as half the shit he’d been having nightmarish daydreams about.

“Fine,” Bucky said and Steve smiled wide at him. “But I’m not happy about it!” 

Steve grabbed either side of Bucky’s face and kissed him. “I’m cool with that,” Steve said.

  


* * *

  


Dinner service had never taken this long to arrive, Bucky was sure of it. Someone had purposely slowed down the clocks or something. He wouldn’t put it past Natasha.

It didn’t help that he and Nat were currently barred from helping in the kitchen, instead finishing up their reward for the day by “resting” in the dorms. Natasha was curled up on the couch with Sam’s tablet. (Bucky doubted very much whether Sam knew about that.) Bucky was sitting in the armchair trying not to look at the clock every thirty seconds. He was failing.

“So, what happened to your arm?”

The question barely registered with Bucky until Natasha sat up, placed the tablet on the coffee table, and stared at him.

“What?” Bucky asked, barely holding back his annoyance. 

“Your arm,” Natasha repeated pleasantly and she clasped her hands in her lap, her feet tucked underneath her. “I noticed while we were walking today. A distinct lack of mobility in your left arm. Nerve damage? Muscular? Joint?”

“I don’t see how this is any of your business,” Bucky said, but the conviction he’d meant to have wavered. He unconsciously clenched and unclenched his left hand. 

Natasha pointed at it. “And you do that a lot, especially when you’re worked up,” she said. She wasn’t smiling, but Bucky could tell she was enjoying this.

He scowled at her. “Again, not really your business,” he said, and he forced his hands together to keep from moving.

Natasha shrugged. “I’m not here to judge. We’ve all got scars, remember?” She gave him a pointed look.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Of course she’d use the guilt card. He had shot her for chrissakes. 

“My shoulder was dislocated,” Bucky said shortly. “I left it too long, pinched a nerve and other shit. I’m fine, I just can’t feel much anymore.”

Natasha nodded slowly.

“Why do I feel like you’re learning all my weaknesses so you can kill me easier?” It was only half a joke.

“Because I am,” Natasha replied matter-of-factly. “Can never be too careful.” She smiled and its warmth was in direct contrast to what she’d just said.

Bucky snorted. “I’m hardly a threat anymore,” he said and he sunk deeper into the armchair.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Natasha replied. She watched him with a critical eye for a moment more before she picked up Sam’s tablet again and laid back down.

  


* * *

  


By the time Loki had come upstairs to collect him and Natasha, Bucky had come up with three of the most likely surprises waiting for him at dinner service. One was a special VIP, someone who meant something to Bucky, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who that could be. He hadn’t been interested in anything pop culture since he was 12 and he highly doubted Verasi was going to make an appearance in Hell’s Kitchen. 

Second was something simpler, like a favorite dish of his was being served. He couldn’t imagine what that dish could possibly be since he’d never shown favoritism toward any particular food, but perhaps it was Russian and therefore assumedly special to him.

Last was the one he spent the most time thinking about and it had everything to do with the man he had seen the previous night: Emil. He had seen him, had been so sure of it and what would he be doing here unless it was to see Bucky? No doubt word had made its way to Emil in Russia when Bucky’s entire story was leaked online, so he’d know exactly where he was. It wasn’t an impossible thought. Just highly unlikely.

Especially considering they’d promised never to see each other again. It would be too dangerous, too risky to have them both in the same place.

Still, it was a thought that caused him to have some serious heart palpitations.

“You know,” Natasha said casually as they followed Loki down the stairs, “I never would have guessed the Winter Soldier to be such a neurotic mess.”

“I told you already,” Bucky replied sharply, “I’m not him anymore.” If he had been less on edge he might have told her he far preferred the panic attacks and nausea and fatalistic thinking to the dead husk of a man he’d been before. At least now the flight or fight response was a real choice he had, not something he had to stamp down. 

His heart leaped into his throat when they made it into the kitchen, although nothing seemed out of the ordinary. They lined up and not even the quiet, soft touch of Steve’s hand on his could quiet Bucky’s racing thoughts. 

“Tonight’s dinner service is a bit different,” Ramsay announced. “We’ve got a little bit of a surprise for each of you, so come around front.”

Bucky followed the rest up to the front of the pass.

“Dinner,” Ramsay said, a big smile on his face, “is on us tonight.” He raised his arms at his sides and most of the contestants looked at one another. Nat and Steve just looked on with big grins on their faces.

“You will not be cooking tonight,” Ramsay continued, “because you are the guests of honor. Congratulations on being the top six!”

The contestants clapped enthusiastically and Bucky felt a large weight lift off his shoulders. This is what the surprise was? He was going to murder Steve for making him think it was something tailored to him.

“That’s not all,” Ramsay continued. Bucky almost choked on air. “Tonight, you will be joined by some very special guests.” Chef turned and motioned toward the stairs. “Please, everyone, come on down.”

Bucky watched as a pair of high heels and long legs appeared. Bruce, who had been stoically listening, suddenly choked out a sob or a laugh - Bucky wasn’t sure - before running over to the pretty woman now standing at the foot of the stairs. They embraced and kissed, meaning she could only be one person - Betty. He’d never seen Bruce so emotional before and it was a nice change.

Ramsay was saying something else, but Bucky couldn’t focus because more people were making their way down the stairs. An older woman - Steve’s mom, Bucky could only assume, was close behind and Steve was by her side in an instant. Bucky found himself smiling as more people kept coming: a sharply dressed black woman with an old lady on her arm - Sam’s mother and grandmother, an attractive man with dark auburn hair that Natasha quickly mussed as soon as she got up to him, a graying older man who Maria hugged tightly and then was gesticulating at wildly, a pretty young woman with short, pixie-cut brown hair and wide eyes.

Bucky’s first thought was Maria’s sister, but then the woman reached the bottom of the stairs and adjusted the bag on her shoulder awkwardly in a way that was so devastatingly familiar.

“Rebecca,” Bucky breathed.

She pushed her way past the group of chattering, happy people (Chef was among them, shaking hands delightedly with Sam’s mother) and walked straight toward Bucky. He panicked. He couldn’t do this, not now, not surrounded by all these people. He ran.

“Shit,” Natasha said.

“I got him,” Steve replied, and he excused himself to chase after Bucky.

Bucky hid himself in the back hallway, back pressed against the wall, chest heaving with every labored breath. Steve found him in no time.

“Bucky, what are you-?”

Bucky grabbed the front of Steve’s coat and slammed him hard against the wall, not enough to really hurt, but enough to scare him because he needed to be scared. He needed to know how wrong this was, how inappropriate this was.

“You brought her here,” Bucky growled.

“Yeah!” Steve said and his mood was quickly turning from surprised to obstinate. “It was my idea. Chef agreed and Natasha helped track her down. We thought you’d like to see her aga-”

“You thought wrong!” Bucky spat and it took everything in him not to just punch Steve out and run. Fuck the show, fuck the job, fuck Gordon Ramsay and these stupid games and stupid people. They’d exploited his personal life for the last goddamned time. “You have no fucking _idea!_ ” Bucky shouted at Steve, not caring that a cameraman had found them.

“She agreed!” Steve shouted right back and he pushed hard on Bucky’s chest so he stumbled back. Bucky settled for clenching his fists at his side. “We talked to her, told her you didn’t know about it.” Steve took a few, short breaths. “Bucky, she wanted to see you. She still does. She’s out there and she came all the way from New York just to- just to see if you were okay.” Steve was pleading now and it made Bucky want to crack, to apologize for acting like a damn fool.

Bucky clenched his jaw instead.

“Look,” Steve continued and took a step toward him. “Just have dinner with her. That’s all she wants anyway. One dinner. That’s it.”

Bucky steadied himself with a breath. He didn’t want to see Rebecca, not like this. Not when he wasn’t himself yet. He had a lot to make up for and he didn’t want it to start on some bullshit cooking show.

But she was waiting and Bucky owed her too much to keep her too long, so he left Steve in the hallway and went back into the kitchen. Everyone was seated already, a light chatter in the room that didn’t even stop when Bucky stepped in - they were too busy catching up to care about the crazy ex-thug who’d gone off the ropes again.

Rebecca was sitting prettily at a table set for two, thanking Thor for filling her wine glass. She looked up at Bucky when he came over. 

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mind if I sit?” he asked quietly.

She smiled at him. “Are you gonna run again?” she asked.

He let out a breath and sat. “Sorry,” he said. “I kind of… I don’t know.”

“Freaked out?” Rebecca offered and took a sip of wine.

Bucky laughed a little. “Yeah.” It grew quiet and he could feel her eyes studying his face but he didn’t have the strength to look her in the eye.

“Bucky, I-”

“Don’t,” he cut in quickly and this time he did look at her. “Don’t apologize,” he said.

“I wasn’t going to,” she said simply. “I was just going to say that I missed you. A lot.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “I missed you, too.” 

She smiled at him again and this time Bucky managed to smile back. She reached a hand across the table and he took it.

“We seem to have traded hairstyles,” she noted and he laughed.

“I didn’t even recognize you at first,” he admitted. 

“Hmm. I wonder if that’s because of the hair or the fact that you’ve been MIA for four years?” It was a question with no lack of bitterness that cut right to Bucky’s core, but when he made to take his hand back, she held on tighter. “Bucky, I forgive you,” she said quietly. There was such sincerity in her eyes when she said it, he could almost forgive himself. Almost.

“Becca, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have called the minute I got back, but after what happened, I just- I kept seeing your face, kept hearing what you’d said to me and I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t face you after what I’d done.”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Barnes,” she said. “I knew that wasn’t you. I got angry because I didn’t know how else to react! You were this _thing_ , this _monster_ and I was so afraid I wouldn’t get my brother back.” She was crying again and Bucky was a little annoyed to find that he was, too.

“I’m back, Becca,” he said and his voice cracked but he didn’t care because this was his sister and she was _there_ and she wasn’t angry with him even if she had every right to be.

She let out a choked little laugh and squeezed Bucky’s hand harder before taking it back to dab at her face with a napkin. “Well,” she said with a sniffle, “we only have forty minutes to catch up so we’d better go fast. I’ll give you the cliffnotes of my life, but first I want to hear about yours. The web stories have just been _fascinating_ this month, don’t you think?”

They talked the entire forty minutes, barely taking time to eat so that Bucky was still starving when they exchanged numbers and hugged goodbye.

Bucky immediately texted her when he got up to the dorm: “I’m sorry. Again.”

She was quick to reply: “If you apologize again I’m going to punch you next time I see you.”

Before Bucky could text back, she texted again: “Which will be Thanksgiving, by the way. You don’t have a say in the matter. Also you’re bringing Steve.”

Bucky laughed lightly at his phone. “Ok,” he sent back and then turned it off.

Most everyone had made their way back upstairs for the night. Steve was missing - he was doing his interview and Bucky was glad for it because he still wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was going to have.

A big part of him was still angry that Steve would invade his personal life like this and take control without even asking Bucky his opinion on the matter. Just because it had worked out better than Bucky ever imagined it would didn’t mean he had no valid reason to be upset.

But most of his anger disappeared when the first words out of Steve’s mouth were: “Buck, I am so sorry. I keep thinking about how much of an idiot I was. I didn’t think about the fact that you wouldn’t want to see her, I just thought it’d be a great surprise. And Natasha was incredibly convincing-”

“Whoa. Leave me out of this, frat boy,” Natasha said as she walked past on her way to her own interview.

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Honest to god, I’m sorry. Look, if you don’t ever have to talk to me again after this, I’ll stay out of your hair.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky said.

“What?”

“I said it’s fine. I mean, I was angry. Maybe I still am, I don’t know. But… it worked out, so I guess I can’t be mad for too long.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I had thought she didn’t want to come,” Steve added. “But she just seemed so eager. Shit. I should’ve just asked.”

“You weren’t allowed to,” Bucky said. “Obviously the cameras got what they were looking for - a total fuckin’ freak out from yours truly.”

Steve looked miserable. Bucky sighed. “Just, let’s go make out on the balcony?” Bucky said.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve groaned.

“Sorry, do you _not_ want to make out on the balcony?” 

“I just need to know that we’re okay,” Steve said seriously.

Bucky looked at Steve for a long moment. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I really pounded this chapter out - it's been a long time coming. 
> 
> I posted the first two chapters of what I was writing for the Steve/Bucky BigBang that I never got even close to finishing. It's a Post-TWS fic if you're interested in that.


	7. Six Chefs Compete

Bucky had planned to wake up and send a morning text to Rebecca just because he could, but instead he was rudely awoken by Thor traipsing around the dorm with a megaphone singing Christmas carols.

Loki was skulking around the living area when Bucky emerged from the bedroom. They exchanged an equally annoyed look before Bucky hit the showers. 

When he was done, he made his way out to the kitchen for breakfast. Thor still hadn’t let up and Natasha, who looked wide awake and chipper as ever, joined him in singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” 

“Fuck this,” Bucky grumbled to Steve when he came over to join him at the breakfast bar.

Steve laughed and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “What, not a Christmas fan?”

“Not at five in the morning coming through a megaphone,” Bucky replied. 

Loki wrenched the megaphone from Thor and he was now holding it out of reach. Thor picked Loki up with a loud laugh and swung him from side to side until Loki was red in the face and embarrassed enough to relinquish the megaphone. The singing continued.

To Bucky’s surprise, Maria actually came over and leaned toward him across the counter. “Where the hell is Bruce?” she half-shouted at him.

Bucky winced as the megaphone got too close to the surround sound speakers located by the television and there was some genuinely awful feedback.

“Fuuuuck,” Bucky said, then looked back at Maria. “No idea where he is.”

She frowned at him, then walked away. 

“Did she just vaguely ask me if I killed Bruce?” Bucky asked Steve lightly.

Steve shrugged and continued to eat. Thor changed songs. “Jingle Bells” had never been so loud.

“Steve, do you like me?” Bucky asked loudly.

Steve stopped and looked at Bucky concernedly. “Of course!” he said.

“Cause I think if someone _really_ liked me, they’d go and break that damn megaphone.” He stuck his thumb out at Thor and Steve laughed.

And he got up. Bucky had meant it as a joke, but Steve was making his way over to Thor. Thor looked overjoyed that Steve was there to join him. (Even Natasha had given up and was outside on the balcony.) Steve said something to him and Thor looked delighted to hand over the megaphone. Steve returned to the breakfast bar with a grin. He gave Bucky the megaphone.

“How the hell did you do that?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Steve said.

Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve laughed. “I told him I’d help him choose a necklace for Jane. I heard him talking about it with Maria yesterday.” He shrugged.

“You are kind of incredible,” Bucky said.

“Where _is_ Bruce?” Steve asked suddenly. They both glanced around the dorm, but he was nowhere in sight. 

Then, Bruce appeared at the top of the stairs looking happier than he had the entire competition.

“Everything okay, Bruce?” Steve asked.

Bruce nodded. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Just got done talking to Chef Ramsay.” 

Natasha and Maria had noticed the distinct lack of Christmas music and made their way inside just in time to see Bruce.

“What? Why?” Steve said.

“Because I’m dropping out.” Bruce smiled widely at them.

“I’m… sorry. What was that?” Maria asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bruce said and he waved his hand in the air. “Everything is great. Better than great. I’m, uh, well, I’m getting married, so-”

“BRUCE BANNER!” Thor roared and before Bruce could run, Thor’s massive arms were around him, lifting him off the ground. Loki audibly scoffed from the couch where he was sitting on the very edge as though it were diseased.

Bruce laughed a little. “Thank you, Chef,” he said breathlessly once Thor put him down. “Anyway, I have to pack.”

“Wait, Bruce, you can’t be serious,” Maria said. She followed him into the dorm room and they could hear her getting more and more exasperated as they spoke.

“I didn’t see that one coming,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t see how overjoyed Bruce was to see Betty yesterday, then. I mean, it was like watching that scene in _Big Fish_ when he comes home from the war and-”

“Big Fish?” Bucky repeated.

“Seriously?” Steve asked. “Shit, I’m usually the one out of the loop. Tell you what - our first date will be movie night.”

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. _First date_. He brought out his phone and texted Rebecca: “Big Fish. Steve’s suggestion. Thoughts?”

He didn’t expect her to be up for awhile, but apparently that wasn’t the case since the reply came moments later: “I like Steve more and more every day.”

  


* * *

  


Despite Maria’s apparent distaste for Bucky, (or was it Bucky’s sexual orientation? He still wasn’t clear on that.) they worked together well. He, Natasha, and Maria were quiet and focused in the team challenge - cooking five pieces of meat (wellington, porterhouse, burger, and kobe steak) to Chef’s particular standards as fast as they could to beat out the other team.

Bucky thought they’d lose for sure since Steve and Sam were like a dream team, but their constant playful banter was apparently distracting enough that Bucky, Natasha, and Maria won by mere seconds.

“Congratulations, guys!” Chef said with a smile. Nat raised her hand up and Bucky high-fived her. Even Maria was grinning. “You guys are going to be spending the day in one of the most beautiful areas of Southern California in Escondido at Orfila Vineyards to sample some of the most amazing wines this country has to offer.”

Bucky felt a wave of relief wash over him. No boats, no cleaning, no cryptic surprise dinner services. He did feel a bit sad that Steve wouldn’t be joining him, but how bad could hanging out with Natasha and Maria really be?

  


* * *

  


Apparently, after a few wine tastings (Natasha swore that you didn’t get the full taste of the wine unless you swallowed it and that spitting was for lightweights and weaklings), Maria and Natasha were much more easygoing.

Maria seemed to not even hate Bucky now that she had a few glasses’ worth of wine in her system. 

He was feeling the effects himself, and it wasn’t like he’d made a point to take it slow. His head felt light and heavy at the same time. He was reminded why he never took up drinking after he got back from Russia for good. This feeling could easily become addictive.

“Bucky,” Maria said and her eyes were clearly trying hard to find his on his face. He tried not to laugh because she was being sincere. “Bucky,” she said again. She leaned forward across the wood table. They were outside and there was a slight breeze, but it was hot and sunny and Natasha had taken off her shirt and she was fanning herself with a menu in just a cami. Bucky might be gay, but it was still incredibly distracting in his given state.

“I just wanted to, like, apologize?” Maria continued. She reached a hand out and touched his arm. He actually didn’t feel like recoiling at her touch. In fact, her hands were warm and comforting. He smiled at her.

“‘s all right,” he mumbled.

She shook her head slowly. “No. No, it’s not. I just… I have a hard time understanding, like, love and shit? I don’t, um.” She waved her hand around her face vaguely and then looked at Natasha.

Natasha, who didn’t even seem all that drunk despite the fact that she’d drunk at least a full glass of wine more than they did, turned and said, “Maria is aromantic.”

Bucky looked back at Maria who nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah. That’s it. So the whole, like, you and Steve thing? Like, good for you guys. It’s a competition and everything so I’m not sure how it’s appropriate or whatever, but cool, I guess.” She clearly struggled with the last bit, but Bucky appreciated it all the same.

“Uh, thanks,” he said.

“Fuck,” Maria breathed. “I haven’t drunk this much since college.” A waitress walked past and Maria flagged her down. “Water,” she said desperately. 

With a couple glasses of water to sober her up, Maria was looking much better. The bright red flush of her cheeks drained and she sat up straighter in her seat. Natasha had pushed another glass of water toward Bucky and he drank it even if he preferred feeling weightless and inhibitionless. 

By the time they were ushered to their car to be driven back to Hell’s Kitchen, Maria was back to normal. She even talked to Bucky without glaring, which was a nice change. He learned she lived in New York City pretty near his sister (who he talked about in length) with her three dogs and a cat named Sitwell. Before Hell’s Kitchen, she’d worked in a restaurant called Shield and had enjoyed it immensely, but the owner wasn’t retiring anytime soon and she’d had no experience starting her own business, so winning Hell’s Kitchen would be the greatest thing to happen to her.

“What about you, Natasha?” Maria asked as they rolled down the PCH, windows cracked. “What’s your culinary background? And don’t say sous chef, cause that was just your title. Where’d you come from?”

“Oh, here and there,” Natasha replied vaguely.

Bucky rolled his eyes and she laughed lightly. “All right,” she said. “Well, as Clint told you, I worked for Interpol.”

“And the mafia,” Bucky said. He wouldn’t let her off that easy.

“And the mafia,” she repeated, giving him a hard stare. “That’s why Interpol like me so much in the first place. They’re all about reformed spies.”

“So, where’d you learn to cook?” Maria asked.

“I grew up learning from my babushka. My parents weren’t around much. They were in deep with the mafia, and they tried to keep me out of it as much as they could. And they were rich, so my activities were varied. Ballet and cooking were the only things I really connected with. But I was good at what I did, so I wasn’t safe from Izmaylovskaya for very long. I was doing solo missions by the time I was 17.”

Bucky had never thought to feel sorry for Natasha before, but now he did, if only because his story was so eerily similar. Growing up among rich thieves and murderers was some strange common ground. 

“I liked the work,” she said and her voice was softer. “I wasn’t really myself. Or maybe I was, I don’t know. I don’t really know who I am.” She said it like it was nothing, like she was discussing the weather, but Bucky understood where she was coming, moreso than he’d like to admit. 

“You’re an amazing chef,” Maria said matter-of-factly.

Natasha smiled at that. “Yeah. Well, after the bratva, while I was Interpol, I took up cooking again. Just for me, sometimes co-workers. Did a lot of stints with Clint and he was easy to please and he liked cooking too, so we’d go back and forth. Turned into something like a competition.” She smiled fondly. “I quit Interpol as soon as I put in my five years, started as a cook in some dinky little kitchen, worked my way up.”

“Wow. That’s kind of amazing,” Maria said. 

It kind of was.

  


* * *

  


Bucky was actually a little sad to be back in the kitchen helping prepare for dinner service that night. His day out had been restful and wonderful and yeah, he had a pulsing headache that was barely being stifled by the three Advil he’d taken, but it had been worth it.

Maria was feeling even worse. She’d downed three full bottles of water, but she was still clearly feeling ill by the time Hell’s Kitchen’s doors opened.

It was strange being in a single kitchen with everyone working together, but he got to work close to Steve, so Bucky couldn’t complain.

“Bucky, we need more scallops!” Natasha called.

“Shiiiiiit,” Maria said and Bucky saw that she had once again overcooked them. Chef was currently inspecting a plate up at the pass so Bucky rushed into the back, hoping to save Maria’s ass before she completely fucked herself over.

He pulled out the small bin of scallops and turned, nearly running straight into Steve.

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed.

Steve grinned wide. “I hoped to catch you,” he said.

“Gotta go, Steve. Maria needs-”

“You look terrible,” Steve said with a slight frown.

“Yeah, we got a little drunk. I look better than Maria, though.”

“That’s for sure. Drunk, huh?” Steve said. “Wish I’d been there.” 

He actually pouted, so Bucky leaned up and kissed him quickly. 

“Bye, Steve,” he said.

Steve smiled as he watched him go.

  


* * *

  


“Maria, where the fuck is your head?!” Ramsay shouted and Maria barely reacted. If the pounding in Bucky’s head was anything to go on, he knew she must be in terrible pain. Fuck whoever had convinced them to drink so much.

He glanced at Natasha who looked downright gleeful.

Well, shit.

They powered through the rest of service and Chef was overall pleased.

“But there are some weak links and this is, after all, a competition,” Chef said. “So, I need you all to get together and nominate two chefs for elimination based on tonight’s performance as well as past performances.”

  


* * *

  


Steve was the first to speak up. “Well, I nominate Maria. You’re a great cook, but tonight was-”

“It’s based on _all_ performances,” Maria snapped angrily. Bucky was sure half of the anger was coming from the midnight hangover.

“Okay, but I haven’t really seen your past performances,” Steve pointed out, refusing to back down. “That’s my vote.”

They went around the room. Maria was the popular choice and Sam was up there for his single mistake with the steaks that night. But everyone else had done so well, it was like choosing the worst of the best.

In the end, Maria and Sam were nominated. Sam seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal, if a little annoyed. 

Chef heard their testimonials and thought hard. “Honestly, this is a really tough one,” Ramsay said. “No matter what, we’ll be losing a valuable and talented chef. The person who will be leaving us tonight is… Maria. Please, take off your coat and leave Hell’s Kitchen.”

She looked furious, but shook Chef’s hand and thanked him. She left.

  


* * *

  


“I can’t believe there’s only four of us,” Sam said, leaning back into the couch with a huff.

“I can’t believe there’s only one woman,” Natasha said.

Bucky hummed a noise of contentment as Steve’s hand traced faint lines on his lower back, just under his shirt where no one else could see, not even the cameras.

“I’ll be honest,” Sam said, “I wouldn’t mind losing to any one of you assholes.” He raised his bottle of beer. “But I _am_ gonna wipe the floor with you.”

Steve and Bucky laughed while Natasha rolled her eyes.

And then it hit Bucky like a ton of bricks.

This was the first time since he could remember that he felt like part of something. There was family with Rebecca, of course, but this was different. Just as good, just as comfortable, just as nostalgic. Bucky honestly wanted to freeze time so none of them would win or lose; they’d just sit around and heckle and laugh and it would be okay because no one expected them to be anywhere until the morning.

But time went on and Sam and Natasha soon shuffled off to bed. Bucky sighed happily and leaned back into Steve. Steve put one arm around him and let his chin rest on Bucky’s head.

“I think Natasha sabotaged Maria,” Bucky said sleepily.

Steve grunted. “You really think she’d do that?”

“You really think she wouldn’t?”

Bucky felt Steve shrug. “I think she’d do anything to win this competition.”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve. “What happens if one of us loses?” Bucky asked. “Or wins? I mean, it’s gonna happen. Maybe we’ll both lose. Who knows? But I just… want to be prepared.”

Steve smiled. “Prepared for what? So, one of us loses? Both of us lose! Who cares? I don’t. I’ll be fucking delighted if you win, Buck. And hopefully you’ll be for me, too. We’ll figure it out. I’m not a big planner, anyway.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Bucky muttered and settled back into Steve’s arms. He closed his eyes and thought he could fall asleep there, but he knew Steve couldn’t be comfortable and his arm was probably asleep, so Bucky yawned, stretched, and helped Steve off the couch. Then they went to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to go! Shit is gonna start happening, too. THANKS FOR READING, AS ALWAYS!


	8. Four Chefs Compete

Natasha was missing. Since the last time a person went missing it was Bruce talking to Ramsay about dropping out, it felt strangely optimistic. Not that Bucky didn’t like Natasha. But having her out of the competition would mean he was one step closer to achieving his dream. The only dream he’d had in six years.

Sam and Steve sat at the breakfast bar, chatting enthusiastically about getting back home to their families, with mild heckling about who would be seeing their family first. So Bucky took it on himself to investigate.

After he was sure Natasha wasn’t in the girls’ dorm, the balcony, or the bathrooms, he decided she must’ve gone downstairs. It felt strange to walk down before they were asked to, and he wondered if it were somehow against the rules, but he figured they couldn’t eliminate him for breaking a rule he didn’t know existed. There was no one in the back hallway, but he noticed the back door held open a crack by the wooden doorstop and he stopped at the door to listen.

At first all he could hear was the traffic and the noise of the people on the street. But then he could make out Natasha’s voice. She was standing to the left of the door so Bucky repositioned himself to hear better.

“-not supposed to be here in the first place,” Natasha was saying. “Can’t you just trust that I’ve got a handle on this?”

“Of course. You are very capable.” The voice was thick with an accent Bucky was well accustomed to: Russian. And the tone was so familiar, it made his chest ache. 

“I am only checking in to make sure-” the man continued.

“To make sure I don’t capture, torture, kill?” Natasha finished.

“Well, yes,” the man replied seriously.

Natasha scoffed. “I have to go,” she said. “This shit show is almost over. Go back to Russia, Emil.”

Bucky’s heart stopped and the scuffed metal of the door swam before his eyes. _Emil? That was Emil?_

He put a hand on the door and almost pushed, but he couldn’t. Something in him was keeping him frozen to the spot, incapable of moving. He wanted to hide, to run away. 

He heard Natasha’s footsteps grow close and he panicked, stumbling backward until he hit a wall and then diving into one of the dark, smaller pantries just as Natasha opened the door. Bucky heard her kick the doorstopper and the heavy metal door slide close before she started walking. She made it to the bottom of the stairs before Bucky stepped out of pantry. He must have made some noise because she whipped around. 

She looked surprised, but masked it quickly with disinterest.

“Bucky,” she said lightly.

He swallowed and willed his voice not to shake. “Why were you talking to him?” he asked quietly.

She took a moment before answering. “We’re friends,” she said.

“No,” Bucky said. He took a couple steps forward, but she held her ground. She did widen her stance though and he noticed how her hand fell toward her pocket; she probably had a knife, it’s what he would have done. Now he was weaponless, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t put up a fight. He didn’t expect to, but it was always in the back of his mind.

“Bucky,” she said and it was a warning. “He’s not-”

“What are you two doing down here?”

Loki stood in the entrance to the kitchen looking back and forth between Bucky and Natasha with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing,” Bucky said at the same time Natasha said, “Had to get some air.”

Loki scowled. “Well, now you can tell the other two that you’re needed in the kitchen.” He turned on his heel and left. Natasha was already halfway up the stairs by the time Bucky could get himself to walk again.

He had to know why Natasha was talking to Emil. It was an itch under his skin that made him irritable and unfocused. But Natasha was good at avoiding him even though there were only four of them left.

That morning’s challenge was hands-on so he didn’t get to corner her. Their challenge was to make any dish of their choosing to be featured in the magazine Bon Appetit. It was a huge reward and would help any one of them break out onto the culinary scene. 

It was almost eerily quiet in the kitchen as all four cooked. Even Sam and Steve, who were usually going back and forth at all hours of the day, were fully focused on their food. Bucky would occasionally chance a look at Natasha, but if she were watching him, she didn’t give anything away.

The managing editor of Bon Appetit was there, an older refined-looking woman with short, gray hair and large, brown eyes. She and Ramsay gave the dishes presented to them one to five stars. Sam went first. His New York strip with mashed sweet potatoes and asparagus was pretty, but only got him three stars because the steak was slightly overcooked. Natasha’s Chilean sea bass was beautifully garnished and won her four stars. Bucky, who had been perfectly distracted and not at all focused on his handmade linguine dish, only got two stars. Steve’s prawns and angel hair pasta dish got a perfect score - five stars and the rave reviews of both Chef Ramsay and the magazine editor. In addition to being featured in the prestigious magazine, Steve was also given a full spa day at Crystal Spa right there in Los Angeles. 

And he was allowed to invite one person.

  


* * *

  


“You should have asked Sam,” Bucky said miserably in the back of the town car driving them to the spa. 

Steve chuckled and put his arm around Bucky. “If anyone needs a spa day it’s you, Buck. Besides, Sam wants to ask out Natasha.”

Bucky frowned and Steve shrugged. “I told him it was his funeral, but he seemed determined, so who was I to stop him?”

Bucky stared out the window pensively until they reached the spa. After they were inside, they were ushered to a back room where they were told to take all their clothes off. Bucky tried not to feel shy as he did so; Steve seemed unfazed by the request. With nothing but towels around their waists, they were then led into a large room with a massive hot tub and two smaller, personal tubs to the side. 

Steve gave Bucky a look before taking his towel off and throwing it unceremoniously on one of the few chairs sitting around the tubs. Bucky tried not to look, he really did, and he only got a glimpse, but even that was enough to make him feel the heat in his face. He prayed that Steve didn’t notice or at least blamed the heat of the room for it.

Bucky quickly followed suit, but Steve was at a perfect angle and he apparently didn’t feel the same need to let Bucky retain some sense of dignity. He drank it all in with a smile pulling at the side of his mouth.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered, and slipped into the water.

Steve laughed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the tub. “I didn’t say a thing,” he said innocently.

“You’re like a gross, old man,” Bucky said.

Steve made a face and Bucky laughed. It was quiet for awhile and Bucky finally let himself relax. He’d never been to a spa. Relaxing was one thing he had never really done before, at least not properly like this. He could definitely get used to it. Especially if it always included a naked Steve Rogers. 

“What’d you do to your shoulder?” Steve’s voice was soft and soothing, but it broke Bucky from his mindless reverie. 

“Hmm?” he said, looking down. “Oh.” There was a white, waxy scar on his left shoulder. He flexed the fingers of his left hand unconsciously. “A got stabbed. And my shoulder was dislocated.” He hadn’t meant it to sound so nonchalant, but it was in the past and he tried not to get so emotional about that sort of thing.

“Jesus,” Steve said, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, it was pretty awful. Now I don’t have any feeling in most of my shoulder. It gets a little better the farther down you go. All my fingers work, I mean. But it’s not… It’s like when your arm falls asleep at night cause you were laying on it funny? That sort of tingly, dead feeling?”

“Shit, I didn’t know that,” Steve said. 

Bucky shrugged. “Not something that usually comes up in casual conversation.”

Steve nodded a couple times and Bucky tried not to feel like he was being X-rayed by those ungodly blue eyes of Steve’s. Finally, Steve looked away and Bucky sighed happily.

“Told you you deserved this,” Steve said. 

“I don’t know about _deserving_ it, but I’m definitely _enjoying_ it.” 

“You’ve been so tense. Especially today,” Steve said. “Where’d you disappear to this morning, anyway?” 

Steve looked over at him and Bucky tried not to look guilty. He didn’t have any reason to, really. It’s not like he’d snuck out to see Emil or something, but Emil’s presence in the first place was enough to throw Bucky off balance.

“I was looking for Natasha,” Bucky said.

“Oh. You found her, I guess.”

“Yeah. I found her,” he said darkly.

Steve raised an eyebrow and Bucky let out a deep breath. “She was outside talking to Emil,” he said.

He was grateful the cameras weren’t allowed to follow them into the hot tub room, because this was something he definitely didn’t want aired. The camera people had taken their preliminary shots and then were herded back to the visitor’s area at the entrance. 

“Emil?” Steve said with wide eyes. “Shit, so you really _did_ see him the other night!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Bucky said. 

“So, what’d you do? What’d he _say_?” 

“Well, I didn’t exactly talk to him. Or see him. I couldn’t- I don’t know.” Bucky ran a hot hand down his face and pushed his hair back. 

“You panicked, huh?” Steve said quietly.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, plus Natasha was coming back so I sort of hid and just confronted her after she was inside.”

“What’d she say?” 

“Nothing. Said she knew him, but before I could get anything out of her, Loki showed up.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck. Now I kinda wish I had chosen Sam over you. Would’ve given you prime time to ask her.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky said.

“Doesn’t matter?” Steve repeated incredulously. “Of course it matters! I mean, you and Emil were-” Steve actually blushed slightly. “Well, you were together, so it matters and the fact that he’s in the city is weird, right? So you deserve some damn answers!”

Bucky smiled gratefully at Steve. That was exactly what he’d been thinking, but it was nice to be validated. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll get them eventually. Today before dinner service, if I have my way.”

They soaked up as much as they could in the hot tub before being collected by a muscled man with a thick goatee for their massages. This was less relaxing; being touched anywhere tended to have Bucky’s nerves on edge. But now he had a thin towel draped over his ass and some strange but beautiful woman named Viola digging the knots out of his muscles.

She’d made some remark about the tightness in his shoulders before really buckling down and soon Bucky was actually feeling the tension release in his muscles. It was a strange but overall good feeling.

Steve looked half asleep next to Bucky, a lazy smile on his lips.

“So, what’ll you do when I win _Hell’s Kitchen_?” Bucky asked playfully.

Steve snorted. “You mean when I win? Well, you’ll have to move to Los Angeles, of course, to be with me. I’ll have to see if there’s an opening for a waiter or busboy or something.”

Bucky guffawed and Steve laughed along lightly. “No, but really. If you win, I’d be more than happy to relocate. I don’t actually expect you to if I win. And hell, neither of us could win and then-”

“I’ll move,” Bucky cut in quickly.

Steve laughed. “Just like that?” he said. “I mean, I can do it cause my lease is up anyway and-”

“No, trust me. I want out of that apartment worse than you know.”

Steve gave him a look. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Bucky meant it as a joke even if it was the truth, but Steve gave him a sad look. “I mean, it’s not that bad, I guess,” Bucky added, but Steve just frowned at him.

Bucky sighed. “When I came back from Russia,” he said, “it was hard to acclimate to… life.”

“I’ve been there,” Steve said and of course he had. He was a veteran. Bucky felt stupid comparing his life of crime to the valor of Captain Steve Rogers. But he looked at Bucky with wide eyes; he was listening and he wanted to hear more, so Bucky talked.

“The person I had been before - well, I just wasn’t right in the head. Physical stimuli, really basic stuff like people bumping into me on the street, someone accidentally touching my hand when taking money? It was all so much harsher than it should’ve been. I couldn’t leave the apartment. It was a tiny place, but it was nice. Emil had paid the landlord 6-months of rent up front, so I was left alone for the most part.

“I tried to pretend like I was normal, but leaving the house was a nightmare. Everything was loud and someone would look at me wrong and I’d just- I’d think I was being watched or followed and I’d panic. And then of course the landlord upped the rent without telling anyone, demanded five thousand in a week, so I was out on the street for awhile.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve said softly.

“Yeah, well, I got a job eventually. A couple jobs. Several. I don’t know, I lost count, but I was able to scrape enough together to get this shit hole in the worst neighborhood. Not that it mattered. I looked a mess, so no one messed with me. At least not to my face. Got broken into a couple times, but there was nothing there to take, so it was whatever.”

“So, what about the place you have now?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean? I’m still in that shit hole,” Bucky said. He thought Steve knew that.

“Bucky,” Steve said and it sounded condescending, so Bucky got defensive.

“Look, I know it’s not exactly Pleasantville or anything, but it works for me.” He paused. “Besides, once I win _Hell’s Kitchen_ , I won’t have to worry about shit like that anymore. I’ll be rollin’ in the dough.” He grinned at Steve who returned the look with a sad little smile. “Steve, seriously,” Bucky said. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” Steve replied, “but it’s my job to worry.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky’s plan to corner Natasha before dinner service failed spectacularly. Part of him genuinely wondered whether she’d gotten Thor and Loki to help her because whenever he finished one task and was headed toward Natasha, a sous chef would call him over to a different station to help.

And then dinner service began and there was no way in hell he’d get to talk to her since it was the night that each of them got a turn up at the pass.

Bucky knew how important this portion of the show was because it showed how good of a leader you were. Some were clearly more natural than others, but Bucky was determined to make them listen to him.

Bucky went up to the pass first. He was able to keep everyone in line and updated when orders came in. Loki and Thor were purposely messing up dishes during the service, too, to make sure the food was being thoroughly checked for quality. Bucky was grateful that Thor was such an awful liar because he almost didn’t catch the lobster being substituted for shrimp in the seafood scampi special until Thor stared at him with wide eyes, not saying a word until Bucky looked a little closer. (After Bucky demanded a new plate from Thor, Thor clapped him hard on the back and congratulated him.) 

Sam was next and Bucky was surprised at how natural it felt for Sam to be leading them. He shouted orders clearly and loudly, but he missed the mess up on the fish dish when salmon was replaced with halibut, so he got a good talking-to from Ramsay.

Then it was Steve’s turn. He was a natural leader, happy to take the initiative and had no lack of confidence to lead, which is why Bucky was so shocked when he could barely call out the orders properly.

“Uh. Two salmon, one wellington.” A pause. “Wait! One salmon, two wellington. Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all, though, his face a mask of indifference as it all fell down around him. Ramsay yelled at him, even called him a “fucking muppet” at one point, but Steve looked unchanged.

After Steve had forgotten a ticket for a full five minutes, Bucky had had enough. He made sure the garnish was ready to go before going up to Steve. “We need to talk now,” he said and pulled Steve away from the front. If Ramsay noticed, they’d be in deep shit, but he was currently in the dining room shaking hands with the VIP table, the head of some charity organization.

Bucky closed the door of the pantry. “What the fuck is going on?” Bucky shouted.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Because you’re being total _shit_ up there, Steve! Everyone knows your the natural fuckin’ leader, here! So, what the fuck?”

“I guess I’m just not cut out for it, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and then something clicked. “Oh, fuck no,” Bucky said and he laughed mirthlessly. “No. Fuck you, Steve. You don’t get to- Tell me you’re not-”

Steve looked at Bucky miserably. “Bucky, I’m sorry, but you deserve this more than I-”

“You get the fuck out there and you lead that _fucking_ pass like you fucking should, Steve, or I swear to god I will just drop out right now! I don’t need your goddamn fucking pity.” Bucky’s left hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He was so dangerously close to punching the dumb look off Steve’s face. He turned on his heel and marched out of the pantry.

Shortly after, Steve was at the front of the kitchen again and was remarkably better. He even caught Loki’s mistake on a dish without a second glance, calmly but forcefully asking him to redo it.

By the end of his turn, Ramsay had nothing but praise, and then Natasha took over.

Bucky liked to think it was his deathly glare and bad intentions that threw Natasha off, but more likely it was because she just wasn’t a natural leader. She could lead herself just fine and she was willing to do things for herself, but trust didn’t come easy to her. Her inability to let the rest of them do their jobs while she expedited seriously hindered her performance. Soon they were far behind because Natasha had once again found her way back into the kitchen to yell at Sam about his scallops. To her credit, they were overcooked, but it wasn’t her job to notice until they were up at the pass.

She got frustrated quickly and soon she was snapping at every little comment they made, valid or not.

They made it through service by the skin of their teeth. Because it was going to be down to the final two, Ramsay didn’t ask for any nominees. This would be totally up to him and they were anxious to know who was going to be left standing.

  


* * *

  


“By the end of tonight, we will be down to our final two,” Ramsay said. “You all should be incredibly proud of how far you’ve come. You are, by far, some of the best chefs we’ve had on this show.” 

Steve stood tall and straight, his hands by his side in proper military style. Sam was nervously shifting from foot to foot and Natasha looked as resigned as ever. 

“I’m going to ask each of you, one more time, why you think you should stay in Hell’s Kitchen. Natasha?”

“I’m a strong chef and I deserve to be here. I deserve to win. I may not be the best leader, but I can learn and you know that, you’ve seen it. I’ve got the most skill out of all of us and that’s what really counts.”

“Steve, why do you think you should stay in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“I had a rough start today,” Steve said. “I was distracted and that’s not okay and I don’t make excuses. But I did get better and I showed improvement and I’ve shown I can lead well. I deserve to stay in Hell’s Kitchen because I’m gonna do whatever it takes to win this whole thing.”

Bucky’s heart swelled a little. Hopefully this meant Steve had taken what he’d said seriously. He wasn’t going to have Steve lose just because Bucky was a walking sob story.

“Sam. Why do you think you should stay in Hell’s Kitchen?” Ramsay asked.

“I’ve got the drive. I’ve got the passion, Chef. I can do this and I can win. I know that I can. I make mistakes, sure. But who doesn’t? And I know that if you let me stay, I can show you just how great of a chef I can be.”

“And Bucky. Why do you think you deserve to stay in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Bucky unclenched his left fist and tried to stand a little taller. “I’m dedicated, I’m determined, and I deserve to be here. I’ve worked so hard just to get here and be here in the top four. Winning this competition is my only goal and I know that if I win, I will be the best head chef you could possibly have.”

Chef nodded appreciatively. “This is tough,” he said. “Really tough. Natasha.” Bucky saw her shift slightly on her feet and he almost felt sorry for her. “You’re leaving tonight. But keep your jacket.” Natasha stepped forward and shook Chef’s hand. “You are an incredibly talented chef, one that definitely should be taken seriously, and if you ever want a job, contact me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Natasha said and she left through the doors.

Suddenly, a huge projector screen unraveled from the ceiling right next to Ramsay. The trademark flames from the show were flickering on the screen.

“The first person who will be competing in the Hell’s Kitchen finale is…”

Bucky watched the screen nervously. He couldn’t tell what his chances were. Certainly Sam and Steve had the personality traits, but Bucky felt he was more skilled. He could do this, but had he proven that fact? 

The screen flickered and Steve’s handsome, smiling face appeared. Bucky grinned and Sam clapped Steve hard on the back while Steve placed a hand over his heart. It was hilarious that Steve thought for even a moment he wasn’t going to be in the final two. Somehow Bucky knew it was always going to be Steve at the top with someone else.

Bucky found himself hoping it wasn’t him. He wasn’t sure he could compete against Steve - not because Steve was too good, but their relationship was new and different and how could it possibly withstand a competition for a quarter of a million dollar salary? 

“Congratulations, Steve. You’ve just made it into the finale. And only one of these two remaining chefs will be joining you.”

Chef looked back over at the screen and time seemed to slow considerably as Bucky watched the screen flicker.

And then his own face was staring back at him.

“Congratulations, Bucky,” Chef Ramsay said. “You and Steve will be competing in the finale tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The finale!!!! Not sure if I'm gonna combine these next two sections into one chapter or not, so it could be two or three chapters until it's all over. (And that's only if I decide to do an epilogue. WE'LL SEE.)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading this POS fic. :DDD


	9. Two Chefs Compete

Natasha got a lot of requests. Even though she was technically retired and the Izmaylovskaya bratva didn’t ever want to see her face again and Interpol had told her one wrong step and she’d be in jail for the rest of her life (or until she escaped), people still wanted to use her services. Her skillset. Whatever they were calling it these days.

Phone, email, even one by messenger pigeon: they never stopped coming. Usually it was hit jobs, from the most high profile (senators, celebrities, even the president) to the most inane. She ignored all of them, although they were fun to read in bed with a pint of ice cream and _Project Runway_ on in the background. 

She ignored all of them, that is, until she came across one that really piqued her interest. It was an email that had gone straight to her spam folder - which meant the sender wasn’t so determined that they’d made sure it showed up first in her inbox with a little red flag - and the subject line read: “help??? :)”

Natasha liked emoticons. She thought they were a genius invention that allowed her to be emotionally manipulative even in text-based speech and that was a wonderful thing. 

At first glance, the message seemed to be sent from some prepubescent kid whose overuse of question marks revealed a need to be hyperbolic even though what he was asking would likely send him to jail anyway.

She leaned back in the metal chair at her cafe table in New York City. It was a nice day in spring and she was seated outdoors with big sunglasses covering her face and a chai latte in hand. Her tablet was perched precariously on her knee that rested on the edge of the table. 

She opened the email.

_Hello from Russia!!!_

_Natalia Romanova,  
My name is Emil Janiev and I have a job for you._

  


* * *

  


Meeting a client had never been so nervewracking, which was hilarious because this was literally the least stressful job ever. Natasha pushed her bangs out of her face, let out a breath, and knocked.

The townhouse was nestled in the heart of historic Moscow, a mix of modern and classic that verged on garrish. A woman wearing black, her hair tied back from her face and holding a spray bottle opened the door and Natasha stepped through. The probable maid disappeared around the corner and Natasha took a moment to examine her surroundings.

Her client was affluent, but that was obvious judging by the fee he was offering Natasha for this ridiculous job. Paintings that probably weren’t knock-offs hung on the white walls. There were two chandeliers in the hallway alone and the stairs to the left curved out of sight. The hall opened onto a spacious living room. 

Natasha saw him before he saw her; he was reading a newspaper and held a cup of coffee in one hand. He was marginally younger than she had imagined, around her own age. She scuffed her foot so he looked up. He smiled and it touched his eyes, setting her on edge. No one who was genuinely happy to see her ever meant well.

“Mr. Janiev,” she said.

“Please, call me Emil!” he said and stood up. He stretched out his hand and she took it.

“You know, I don’t actually do this anymore,” she said and started to walk around the room. She didn’t want her back to the door and there five huge windows on the far wall overlooking the back, communal lawn. She settled for standing with her back facing a wall where a Degas hung. 

He watched her passively until she settled, then cleared his throat. “Would you like a drink?” 

His accent was thick, but his English was good. She considered switching to Russian to put him at ease, but where was the fun in that?

“No, thank you,” she replied. “The sooner you tell me what I need to know, the sooner I can get it done.”

Emil waved his hand in the air and sat back down in his armchair. He motioned to the couch across from him and she sat perched on the edge.

“I am in no rush,” he said and leaned back into the chair. “I just want to make sure you are the person for the job.”

Natasha let out a tiny laugh. “You know who I am,” she said.

He smiled. “Yes. I know very well. But this is not a regular assignment, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”

She didn’t reply and he took a sip of coffee. “This place,” he said, “is new. I don’t like it so much. Too, uh, extravagant.” He looked around his spacious home and then looked at Natasha again. “Anyway, my request. I have a friend. _Had_ a friend. We are mutual strangers now, you could say. He is not in a good way and I would like you to help him.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. The email had discussed recon and information gathering, not charity work. 

“This involves, as I said, gathering certain information without his knowledge. I helped him, you see, before. But he is not so good at accepting the help I give him. And now I know he would be angry if he knew I was helping.” Emil studied the area rug at his feet and a frown graced his lips.

“So what sort of help are you looking for here? Hacking into bank accounts isn’t really my forte,” Natasha said.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Emil said. “I just need you to follow him. To find out how he is. I know very little - he shakes my scouts easily, although I should not be surprised.” He smiled fondly and for a moment Natasha considered asking for the full story. She thought better of it.

“So, I stalk your _friend_ ,” she said carefully, “and then what? What’s the endgame here? I bring him to you?”

“He and I are the past. He must move on,” he said. “No, I have something better planned.” He placed the coffee cup on the glass table in front of them and stood up. He walked over to one of the windows where a chestnut table stood. He picked up a folder that was sitting on top and handed it to Natasha before sitting down again.

She opened it. Inside was a flyer that was folded as though it had arrived by mail. 

“What the fuck is _Hell’s Kitchen_?” she asked.

  


* * *

  


Bucky cornered Natasha when it was his last chance and he knew that if he didn’t get answers then, he’d never get them. She was packing her things in the girls’ dorm room when he entered and demanded an answer, demanded to know what Emil was doing in LA, what Natasha was doing talking to him, why he hadn’t bothered to talk to Bucky. 

Bucky had expected to coerce her, find some blackmail and force her to tell, but all she did was give him a sad look before spilling all.

It was like a suckerpunch to the gut and each reveal was somehow worse than the last. His entire journey here had been a set up, from the feeling of being followed in DC, to the break-ins, to the flyer lodged in his door. Part of him was grateful that his paranoia was founded on something other than his psychosis, but it still stung.

He knew he should be grateful that Emil cared enough to see him succeed at something. Gratitude was clearly what Emil had been going for. But two years trying to forget Emil existed in the first place and then finding out Emil had been doing the exact opposite? Bucky felt like a fool.

Bucky wasn’t even sure what to say to Natasha. He’d be damned before he thanked her, but she didn’t look like she wanted his thanks anyway.

“Look,” she said and she leaned against the extended handle of her suitcase, “he clearly cares about you and he knew how shitty your life was, so he tried to help. And frankly, I think he did help.”

Bucky rubbed his forehead angrily. “I didn’t _need_ help,” Bucky said gruffly.

“That’s not what I saw,” Natasha said. She sighed. “He didn’t want you to ever know it was him. I _told_ him not to come to LA, but after I leaked your history-”

“You _what_ -?!”

“-he just _had_ to come here to make sure you weren’t gonna be found by the bratva. Not this his presence here would’ve done anything but exacerbate the situation, but whatever.”

“You leaked my-? But your history was also leaked!”

Natasha looked exhausted and she pushed her hair back behind her ear. “Yeah, well, I had to make it look legit. You didn’t trust me and I needed you to. And solidarity is the great equalizer. Wait, that’s not right. Whatever. Point is, I got you this far, so now you need to _not_ fuck it up and win this thing so Emil will get off my ass.”

“ _You_ got me this far?” Bucky asked incredulously. “Don’t tell me Ramsay was in on this, too.”

“Well, he wasn’t aware of _everything_ , per se…”

Bucky groaned loudly. “I can’t believe this,” he said. 

“Neither can I. Honest to god I planned to make it to the finale with you and then convince Emil that my winning would ground you in reality so I could walk away with a fuckin’ sweet job. But now look at me. That asshole boyfriend of yours is actually better at this than I thought. Should’ve picked someone with less skill and more abs.”

“Picked someone…?” Bucky repeated.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Emil wanted you to get far in this competition. I know some behind-the-scenes people. Or if I didn’t know them, I got to know them and then the rest was just sifting through competitors for those most likely to be-”

“Stop!” Bucky shouted. His heart was racing a mile a minute and his breathing was picking up. He felt trapped and manipulated and it was all so _wrong_.

Natasha stared at him for a moment. “Maybe Emil was right. Maybe I should’ve kept this under wraps. I figured you’d find out eventually though, right?”

“Natasha. It is time for your departure.” Thor’s voice came from the doorway and Bucky turned to see the sous chef looking downtrodden. “We are very sad to see you and Samuel leave,” Thor added.

“You haven’t seen the last of me, Thor,” Natasha said as she rolled her suitcase toward him.

Thor’s face lit up. “You will attempt to re-enter next season, then?”

“I may have to. Gotta prove my worth somehow.”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Thor said, his voice low and serious, “you are already worthy.”

Natasha actually looked touched by the comment and punched Thor on the arm playfully. “Later, Thor,” she said. “And Bucky,” she turned to look at him, “Emil really was just trying to help. Don’t let it get you down so much.”

And then she was gone.

Bucky gave himself five minutes to recuperate before heading into the main room. Steve was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He turned when Bucky came into the room.

“There you are!” Steve said, standing and walking over to him. “Natasha said you needed a moment, that you just got some news. She didn’t say if it was bad or good, but- it’s not Rebecca, is it? Everything okay? Bucky?”

Bucky looked at Steve and tried to remember how it started. He couldn’t help thinking he had to reexamine every second of the past few weeks to see just how far Natasha’s reach had gone. Did any of his effort actually matter? Was his perceived progress just faked and-

“Bucky,” Steve said softly and placed a hand on the crook of his neck.

Bucky shifted slightly and Steve dropped his hand. “Steve,” Bucky said. “I need you to tell me - and I’ll know if you’re lying, so just don’t - if Natasha asked you to be on this show.”

Steve stared at Bucky with wide eyes. “What the hell are you-?”

“Just answer,” Bucky cut in.

“No, of course not. Why would she-?”

“Did you know Emil before I told you about him?” Bucky asked.

“No! Bucky, what are you-?”

“Were you planted on this show to help me win even though I-”

“Bucky, stop!” Steve shouted. 

Bucky looked at Steve, desperately wanting to believe that Steve was innocent in all this, that he’d kissed Bucky because he wanted to and not because Natasha had told him how sad and pathetic Bucky was. 

“Now, calm down and tell me what this is about,” Steve said.

“Natasha. She was working with Emil. It was him. It was his idea to put me in this fucking show because he knew I’d… And then Natasha was here and she manipulated the competition. But I just… need to know you… that you…” His voice shook and his knees felt weak and he just wanted to go lie down and never get up again. 

“You think Emil put me here? Or that Natasha did?” 

Bucky nodded and Steve shook his head.

“God, Bucky, no. No, I swear. I’ve never seen Emil or talked to him. I tried out for this spot, okay, and I deserve to be here! And you do too, by the way. I don’t care if Natasha paid off Ramsay himself, you are a fucking awesome chef and you made it into the finale because you’re _good_. Got that?”

Bucky didn’t reply. He believed Steve, for what it was worth, but that didn’t change the fact that Natasha and Emil had fixed the competition. It made him feel cheap.

“I have to drop out,” Bucky realized. He looked back at Steve. “I have to. It’s not fair. You and Sam should be in the finale, not me. I shouldn’t even be here in the first-”

Bucky was cut off when Steve’s mouth covered his, shutting him up and sending waves of warmth through him. 

“You are _not_ dropping out,” Steve said, pulling back. “Do you even listen to what Ramsay says? You are the best chef here, myself notwithstanding.”

Bucky actually let out a little huff of laughter and Steve smiled at him. He placed both hands on either side of Bucky’s face, his left thumb rubbing the stubble on his cheek softly.

“So tomorrow,” Steve continued, “we are gonna wake up at the asscrack of dawn and we are gonna cook some fucking amazing food and may the best man win. Okay?”

Bucky nodded slightly.

“I need to hear an okay,” Steve said with a grin.

“Okay,” Bucky replied in mock annoyance. 

Steve leaned in again and kissed him. “Good,” he said. “Now, let’s get some sleep because tomorrow I want you to be well rested so when I kick your ass you can’t say it was from lack of sleep or some bullshit.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky had never expected it to make it this far. Sure, he was determined and dedicated and he wanted it worse than any of the suckers who’d been eliminated, but actually making it into the finale? Well, it had felt like a stretch.

And yet the next morning Bucky woke up to an unusually quiet dorm, Steve miraculously still asleep in the bed next to his, and remembered with a start that he was in the final two. He watched Steve for awhile and wondered what it would be like to _actually_ wake up next to him, to be able to reach out and smooth his hair back with a hand and kiss his stupid-long eyelashes. 

Jesus, when had he become such a sap?

He sat up and checked the time - 4:45. No wonder Steve was still asleep, but Bucky’s stomach grumbled and he padded into the kitchen to start the coffee. He didn’t like the stuff, hated the taste more than anything, but he’d found it imperative to staying awake on this show. And he wasn’t about to start downing that five-hour energy bullshit Kate did when she’d been there. Besides, Steve liked coffee, so whatever Bucky didn’t drink he could finish off for him. 

Bucky started the Keurig and sat down at the bar, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice was groggy and when Bucky turned to look at him, he smiled. Steve’s hair was mussed - he’d clearly just put a tired hand through it - and his eyes were barely open.

“Morning, handsome,” Bucky said.

Steve made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat before sitting next to Bucky and slumping over on his elbows. 

“You’re up early,” Steve said. Bucky watched him glance at the Keurig which was noisily spilling hot coffee into a large mug. 

“Yeah. And it’s no wonder you’re usually up before anyone else. That morning breath alone could’ve knocked out four contestants right off the bat. Really wouldn’t’ve been a fair fight.”

Steve looked at Bucky with a furrowed brow and leaned forward quickly to kiss him on the mouth.

Bucky made a face when he pulled back and Steve laughed loudly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but you don’t exactly taste like fresh mint, either, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed and watched as Steve hopped off the stool and headed into the bathroom. 

  


* * *

  


Bucky had never been to Las Vegas. Vacations that generally involved gambling were far from his mind given his nonexistent funds. But the Nobu Hotel that Ramsay put him and Steve up in was something he could definitely get used to. Even though the decor was far more modern than Bucky was used to, the bedroom was spacious and the living room was so comfortable looking he almost didn’t want to plan at all for their impending challenge.

But that was not an option.

Steve landed heavily on the couch, kicking off his shoes and letting out a happy groan as he sunk into the plush furniture. “This is so incredible,” he said.

“This is extravagant,” Bucky said. “I almost feel guilty being here.”

“Bucky…”

“I said _almost_.” He smiled at Steve. 

“Good. You deserve to have all these hundred-dollar decorative pillows,” Steve said, tossing one at Bucky, “and then some.”

Bucky caught it and clutched it to his chest. How could something be so distinctly ugly _and_ comfortable?

“I’m going into the bedroom-,” Bucky started.

“Are you now?”

“- _alone_ ,” Bucky continued loudly, glaring right at Steve’s smirking face, “so I can figure out this damned menu.”

Bucky turned to leave through the doorway that stood between the two rooms. “I hate it when you go, but I love to watch you leave!” Steve shouted after him.

Bucky stuck his middle finger up just before disappearing into the room.

He wanted to come up with at least six entrees and six appetizers. They only had to cook five dishes total, but he’d rather be prepared. And the fact of the matter was Steve was an incredible chef and winning this was actually going to be really fucking difficult.

Bucky sat with his back against the headboard of one of the two queen beds and grabbed the notepad sitting on the nightstand next to him.

The camerapeople left about half an hour after Bucky and Steve lapsed into silence and the only interruptions were the turning of pages and muttered curses. They were told by an assistant producer to head downstairs into the Caesar’s Palace lobby in a few hours where they’d be met by a previous Hell’s Kitchen winner, Scott Commings, now the head chef at Gordon Ramsay Pub & Grille. 

Bucky had honestly planned to spend those few hours coming up with the best dishes he could conceive. But after an hour, the bed was so comfortable and the sheets were so soft and the temperature in the room was abnormally warm and then he was dozing off.

He awoke only an hour later to a heavy weight being dropped on him. He heaved out a breath and opened his eyes to find Steve laying bodily across him.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed. “You’re heavy.”

Steve let out a laugh before rolling off Bucky and curling up beside him, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m bored,” Steve mumbled into his shirt.

“You’re _supposed_ to be planning what food you’re gonna make,” Bucky said grumpily.

“Says the guy who was sleeping.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve leaned up on his elbow and stared at Bucky for awhile. Bucky stared back, wondering when the hell he’d become so comfortable with prolonged eye contact. Steve leaned down and kissed Bucky. It was soft and slow and Bucky leaned up into it, opening his mouth, inviting Steve in. Steve’s hand inched its way under Bucky’s black t-shirt and found purchase on his hip, a thumb digging in and pulling Bucky closer. Bucky could feel the heat pooling in his abdomen. He let out a little moan before putting a firm hand on Steve’s chest and pushing slightly. Steve pulled back and actually pouted, a hilariously dopey look on his face.

“Steve, we can’t,” Bucky said.

“Bucky, we _can_ ,” Steve replied. He rubbed a thumb on Bucky’s chin and smiled. “No camera people, no Ramsay, no Natasha to hide in the ceiling and leak our misdeeds to the world…”

“We’re _supposed_ to be planning for our first challenge,” Bucky countered, but he couldn’t help sounding like a petulant child. 

Steve slid both his hands to Bucky’s chest and pushed so Bucky fell onto his back, then Steve threw a leg over to straddle him.

“We will have all of tonight to plan,” Steve said. The way his shirt was riding up made Bucky’s heart beat a little faster. He swallowed hard. 

Steve leaned over Bucky with a devilish smirk, his usually pristine hair now falling into his eyes. Bucky reached out and ran a hand through it, pulling lightly at the back. Steve leaned down to lick at Bucky’s jaw, then moved to his neck, sucking softly so as not to leave a mark (for which Bucky was grateful - he couldn’t imagine what the judges would say if he showed up to the final challenge with a hickey). 

Steve pulled back just long enough to yank Bucky’s shirt over his head before he was back at it. Bucky couldn’t believe how good Steve’s mouth felt on him. Granted, he hadn’t done this in a long time, but there was no way anything else in the world felt better than this. 

“Oh Jesus,” Bucky breathed as Steve’s mouth traced softer kisses the lower he got until he was right at the hemline of Bucky’s pants. Steve unbuttoned his pants so painfully slow that Bucky was practically squirming underneath him. Steve let out a light laugh and then stopped to pull his own shirt off.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned when he saw him, rolling his eyes back.

“What?” Steve said.

“You!” Bucky said and threw a hand up angrily. “You’re like a fuckin’ statue. How are you even _real_?”

This time it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. He pressed his chest flush against Bucky’s and kissed him deep, tongue slipping in without pretense to caress Bucky’s. Steve’s hips moved, starting slow, rutting against Bucky until he knew there’d be some sort of clothes burn there.

“Fuck, Steve, _pants_ ,” Bucky hissed.

Steve made an annoyed noise somewhere around Bucky’s throat before he obliged, pulling Bucky’s pants off along with his boxers in one motion. Then Steve undid his own and awkwardly pushed them off, throwing them over into the haphazard pile on the floor. 

Steve was flushed and Bucky could barely see the outstanding blue of his eyes, his pupils were so blown . It made his stomach knot to think he was doing this to Steve of all people. Bucky threw a leg up and pushed on Steve’s side so he could be on top. Steve looked surprised, but his expression quickly changed as Bucky licked his way down Steve’s front all the way to the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

Steve wasn’t half as hard as Bucky yet and Bucky planned to change that. 

“Christ, Bucky,” Steve breathed when Bucky traced his tongue up Steve’s length. He mouthed the head of his cock. Steve thrust up unexpectedly so that Bucky had to sit back.

“Fuck, sorry,” Steve said.

Bucky laughed and Steve reddened considerably. He started sitting up, trying to move away, so Bucky put his hands on either side of him, pushing down on his hips.

“Stay,” Bucky said, his voice more demanding than he intended.

Steve swallowed hard before nodding. He stayed up on his elbows to watch as Bucky took all of Steve’s cock in his mouth this time. Steve was clearly trying not to thrust into Bucky’s mouth again, judging by the pressure against Bucky’s hands on Steve’s hips. But Bucky took it slow, dragging his tongue every time he came up. He looked up once to see that Steve was still watching him, eyes somewhat glazed over, mouth partly open.

Bucky picked up the pace until he could taste the precome in the back of his throat.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve said breathlessly. Steve’s hand pushed lightly on Bucky’s shoulder and he looked up at Steve. 

“You okay?” Bucky said.

Steve let out a quick breath and smiled a little. “I want to,” he breathed. “I want to- At the same time.” He looked up at Bucky again and almost looked shy about it.

“You have a lot of faith in my timing abilities- _Oh fuck_!” Steve had grabbed Bucky’s cock and jerked it. 

“Same time,” Steve said again, this time more forcefully. He tugged on Bucky’s arm so he could kiss him on the mouth. 

“Whatever you say, Captain,” Bucky quipped.

Steve brought his hand up, licked it, and then returned to Bucky’s cock, this time stroking slowly. He picked up a rhythm and Bucky found himself thrusting into Steve’s hand. He buried his face in Steve’s shoulder when he ran out of air to kiss, biting down to stop the moans that were threatening to escape. 

“Steve, Steve,” Bucky whimpered. “I’m gonna-”

“Not yet,” Steve said, reminding Bucky of the military commander he really was. _And fuck, that was hot_.

Steve moved his hand,leaving Bucky’s cock starved for touch and pulsing with heat. Steve stroked himself then, starting slow. Bucky kissed Steve’s jaw and reached down to take over for Steve. Steve moaned when Bucky thumbed his tip and his hand reached up to grab Bucky’s shoulder roughly.

Bucky then took them both in hand, thrusting up against Steve’s cock with his own. Once, twice, and then he was coming, his hand stroking fast, almost painfully so. Steve followed close behind, crying out, and Bucky felt the wet hotness of it on his hand. Steve’s fingers dug into Bucky’s shoulder so hard he knew there’d be bruises by the next morning.

Bucky collapsed on top of Steve with a huff, feeling blissfully exhausted.

Steve pushed on Bucky’s side so he rolled off with an annoyed little whine. Bucky lay there on his back looking at the ceiling with nothing particular on his mind other than the thought that he could stay like that and be almost happy. Almost because his hand was covered in drying come and he felt kind of sweaty and gross. But Steve turned to the side, threw a leg over Bucky, and nuzzled into his arm. And that was nice. That was perfect.

“I think I like you,” Steve said softly. He moved his head, what little stubble he had rubbing against Bucky’s arm, and placed his chin on his shoulder to look at Bucky. His eyes were bright and so blue it would have taken Bucky’s breath away if he had any to give.

“I think I like you, too,” Bucky said.

  


* * *

  


“We’re doing this all backwards, you know,” Bucky said.

He and Steve were seated in Gordon Ramsay Pub & Grille. Scott had just stopped by with the usual Good Luck speech and wished them both the best before heading back into the kitchen. They’d just been served - Bucky got fish and chips and Steve ordered the sauteed salmon. Bucky stole an asparagus stalk off Steve’s plate before he could be swatted away.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I mean, we’re going on a date after the fact.” Bucky gave Steve a pointed look. The cameras were trained on them and he’d rather _not_ have their afternoon delight be public knowledge.

“This is a date?” Steve asked. “I feel like if Gordon Ramsay is buying, it’s not really a date. It’s an obligation.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Besides,” Steve continued, “this isn’t our first date.”

“Then when was it?”

“Remember the ship and you were sick and-”

“How the hell is that a date?”

“We ate food.”

“In a group.”

“Still counts.”

“Well, in that case, all the breakfasts we’ve had since day one in the dorms have been dates and we’ve been dating since the damn show started filming. Better yet, we’ve been dating since we first met cause I’m pretty sure there was a buffet at the photo call.”

“So,” Steve said, chewing thoughtfully, “we’re dating?”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, then shut it quickly. Steve laughed and Bucky sighed heavily.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Bucky said. “But by your definition, I’m also dating Sam, Clint, Natasha, Maria, Darcy-”

“Bucky.”

“Kate, Bruce, Tony. I’m dating Tony, Steve.”

“Bucky!” Steve laughed.

“Jane, Pepper, Sharon, Peter,” Bucky counted on his fingers. “Gamora, Rhodey, Gwen, _Star Lord_. Steve, I’m dating fuckin’ Star Lord.”

Steve was laughing so hard, he went from being too loud and drawing attention to noiseless little gasps. He coughed a few times and put a hand on his chest. Bucky shook his head at him and waited until Steve could breathe again.

“Ridiculous,” Bucky muttered, stabbing a french fry with a fork. 

“All right, all right,” Steve said, “so, this is our first date. In that case, we should get some wine.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are we allowed to?”

“It’s Ramsay’s treat. Why wouldn’t we?” Steve flagged down the waiter and ordered a bottle of some expensive red wine. 

“If this gets us in trouble, I’m totally throwing you under the bus,” Bucky said after the waiter left.

“And who is Chef gonna believe? A _mafia prince_ or a Captain of the United States Marines?”

“You’d really pull the valiant soldier card?”

“I would _definitely_ pull the valiant soldier card.”

The wine arrived and it didn’t taste half bad. Bucky definitely wasn’t a connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination; he’d have been just as happy with a budweiser. Still, it was nice and it definitely _looked_ more like a date. As first dates went, (and Bucky wasn’t an expert on those, either) this was definitely one of the better ones.

  


* * *

  


That night, with some serious threats and bribes involving future promises, Bucky finally convinced Steve to leave him alone so he could finish his menu. He had a fairly decent idea of what he wanted by the time the clock showed it was 2:30 in the morning. 

Bucky made his way out into the living room. Steve was asleep, one arm shielding his eyes from the light overhead. A notebook lay open next to him filled with more doodles than recipes. As Bucky got closer, he felt his face grow hot as he realized the drawings were mostly of him. And they weren’t half bad, either. There was nothing embarrassing about them, but it was still strange to think that Steve thought about him even when he wasn’t in the room. Bucky shut the notebook before rousing Steve.

Steve mumbled something incoherent. 

“C’mon. Bedtime,” Bucky said. He grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled. Steve sat up and followed Bucky into the bedroom with his eyes still half closed. Bucky pushed him toward a bed and when Steve’s knees hit the end, he woke up enough to crawl on top of the covers and collapse.

“You don’t want to change?” Bucky asked.

Steve mumbled something and then curled up. Bucky took that as a no. He walked between the two beds to put his phone on the nightstand there and Steve’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. 

“What the-?”

“Sleep with me tonight,” Steve said. He opened his eyes and _goddammit, he totally knew what those eyes did to him_. 

If ever there was a night Bucky needed to get a good sleep, it was tonight. The next day, one of them was going to win _Hell’s Kitchen_ , for chrissake. 

Steve must’ve felt Bucky’s hesitation, because he pulled on his wrist.

“Promise I won’t bite,” Steve said.

Bucky sighed. “Fine. Only if you get into actual pajamas, though. As comfortable as sleeping next to your jeans is…”

Steve smiled and got up as if he hadn’t been dead on his feet just moments earlier. Asshole.

  


* * *

  


Maybe Bucky shouldn’t worry so much because when he woke up curled next to Steve, he’d never felt so rested before. He glanced at the clock; it was only 4 in the morning. Usually he’d struggle with sleep until he finally gave in and just got up. But this time he just sidled up closer to Steve, smelling the clean cotton scent of his shirt before falling right back to sleep.

Once he did awake, the morning was spent packing their things and picking at the breakfast tray that had made its way into their room at some point. 

“How badly do you think they’d miss these soap holders?” Bucky mused, turning the granite-patterned thing in his hand.

“You are not stealing the soap holders!” Steve called from the other room.

“They _want you_ to take the soap holders!” Bucky called back.

“Put it down, Sergeant.” Steve appeared in the bathroom doorway.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Just a Sergeant?” he asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t trust a Private to do battle with me. But you’re definitely no Captain.”

Bucky snorted and put the soap holder down. “We’ll see about that, Cap.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky didn’t mind being back in Hell’s Kitchen. It was beginning to feel like home, which was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

It also helped that his family was standing on the front steps of the place when the town car pulled up to the building. 

“Bucky!” Rebecca basically _squealed_ when he stepped out of the car. He wrapped her up in a hug, grinning from ear to ear.

“Come to watch me win?” he asked.

“You better believe it,” she replied.

Steve walked up behind Bucky and said, “You forgot your bag, Buck.” He handed the duffel to him.

“Thanks,” Bucky said.

“Good to see ya, Steve,” Rebecca said with a big smile.

“You too. Now if you don’t mind…” Steve looked up to the steps where Ramsay stood with an older lady - the same that had come to the dinner just the other night.

Steve walked over to her and they embraced. Ramsay said something that made Steve laugh, but Bucky was too far away to hear.

“You guys good?” Rebecca asked, drawing Bucky’s attention.

“What?”

She inclined her head toward Steve. “I mean, you are competing.”

“Oh. Yeah. I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Well, let’s go. It’s almost time for lunch.”

Bucky checked his watch and sure enough it was nearly 12.

They joined Ramsay on the top of the stairs where he made a speech about family and support and how proud he was that two such talented chefs had made it into the finale. Bucky had assumed they’d be dining in Hell’s Kitchen, but Ramsay had other plans.

“We’ll be heading downtown to a favorite place of mine. It’s a bit of a surprise, so everyone go back outside, and you’ll find your rides waiting for you.

  


* * *

  


Rebecca talked the entire way there. They had kept up with texting, but there was only so much one could say through text. She was enthusiastically talking about the grad school she had just started at and the classes she was taking - architecture, apparently. He wasn’t sure when that had become her thing and it left a pang of guilt somewhere in his chest that he hadn’t been a part of the decision.

They finally pulled up in front of a row of historic theatre buildings and got out. Bucky looked up at the large block-letter sign that read NOW PLAYING: HELL’S KITCHEN.

Bucky made to walk inside, but Steve called out: “Bucky, hold up!”

He turned to Steve who was helping the old woman out of the car. She was tall, slim, and had probably been extraordinarily beautiful in her prime. She still stood straight and her eyes were bright and severe. Bucky felt oddly like a child in her presence, like he was just waiting for a scolding.

She and Steve made their way up to Bucky and Rebecca. “I wanted to introduce you. Bucky, this is Peggy Carter. Peggy, this is Bucky.”

Bucky held out his hand and her grip was surprisingly strong when she took it. 

“I have heard so much about you,” she said in a sharp English accent. 

“Then, I apologize ahead of time,” Bucky said.

Her mouth quirked a little. “I raised Steve,” she said and placed a hand over his on her arm. “Scrawny like you wouldn’t believe and now look at him!”

“Peggy,” Steve whined.

“He was sick his whole life, seemed like. His poor mother - she was a nurse - well, when she passed, he was idiotic enough to think he could make it on his own. Ha! Boy could barely make it down the stairs without breaking a toe.”

“All right, Peggy,” Steve said loudly and pulled on her arm to get her walking.

“So I took him in,” Peggy continued as they made their way into the lobby of the theatre. “Got him better all on my own. Didn’t have any kids myself, but I thought I could handle it.”

“You seemed to do okay,” Rebecca said politely.

“Hardly!” Peggy said. “You know, when he was a teenager, he used to go down to the bars and wait outside for the girls-”

“Peggy,” Steve said, sounding desperate and growing pinker with every word.

“Shush. I’m telling a story. He’d wait outside for these girls who’d be drunk and he’d walk ‘em home.”

“That’s sweet,” Rebecca said.

Peggy nodded slowly. “Sweet, sure. Stupid, too. Cause these girls came with boys twice his weight and height and he’d go right up to them and tell them to bugger off if they tried to get too handsy.”

“You had a death wish,” Bucky said.

“They were assholes,” Steve countered.

“Watch your mouth,” Peggy chided. “My point is,” she continued, “Steve came home with more than his share of black eyes and cracked ribs. And I had to stitch him up! Fool child.”

Steve rolled his eyes in Bucky’s direction who laughed. 

“I’m still stuck on the idea of Steve being scrawny,” Rebecca said. 

“Sickest kid in America,” Peggy assured her. “Had every illness known to man and then some. Grew out of most of the other maladies. The asthma, for one.”

“You had asthma?” Bucky asked. 

Steve shrugged a shoulder.

“Some of it he carried for a while. He was deaf in one ear, y’know. If you were standing on his left, you may as well have not been there at all.”

Bucky looked up at Steve quizzically.

“I got surgery,” Steve said.

“And he had these _huge_ -”

“Okay, Peggy, time to go!” Steve practically shouted over her. Bucky watched as Steve led her through the door into the dark theatre. Bucky and Rebecca were close behind. Ramsay was nowhere to be found, which made Bucky nervous. There was no way this was just a simple movie. 

The theatre was empty and the screen blank when they went in. A heavy black curtain sectioned off the theatre so they could only sit in the first three rows. Rebecca took Bucky’s hand and led him to the front. Steve sat on his left as Bucky stared up at the screen anxiously.

Steve’s hand touched his. Bucky hadn’t realized he’d been clenching his fist until then. He stilled when Steve’s fingers wrapped around his. 

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and a flickering image appeared on the screen. Steve’s smiling mug with a letter held up to what must have been a terrible flip-phone camera graced the screen. The quality was purposefully tampered with to make it look vintage and when Bucky’s face appeared, he was a little off put by how tired he looked in the grainy film. The faux-film progressed, accompanied by some old school jazz music, and showed the best and worst parts of Steve and Bucky’s time on _Hell’s Kitchen_. There was even an amazing close-up of Tony’s terrified face when Bucky had slammed him against the wall. Rebecca stuck Bucky hard in the ribs when she saw it and frowned at him, but he couldn’t help but smile.

The film wrapped with the announcement that Bucky had made it into the finale with Steve. The lights came up again and Ramsay was standing in front of the screen.

“You both have made it so far in this competition, it truly is incredible. The difference between where you started to where you are now is extraordinary and I cannot wait to find out who will be working for me right next door in West Hollywood as Head Chef of The Boxwood Cafe. The rest of America can’t wait, either. And they’re here to cheer you on!”

The curtain that Bucky had assumed was there to keep them from sitting in the back of the theatre rose into the ceiling to reveal nearly a hundred screaming, clapping strangers. They were shouting and whooping and Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden clamor. He and Steve stood to face the audience. Steve smiled from ear to ear and even waved. Bucky wished he were that good at this, but smiling was the last thing he wanted to do. He mostly wanted to run and hide. At least Rebecca was there and when she caught Bucky’s eye, she gave him a thumbs-up and a big smile that he hesitantly returned.

“Gentlemen!” Ramsay yelled over the noise. “Turn this way!”

They did so, facing back toward the screen - only, there wasn’t a screen; it had disappeared into the ceiling and the curtains on either side had been pulled back to reveal a stage set up like a kitchen. There were two parallel countertops, stoves, and even a pantry to the side. 

“Welcome to the final challenge!” Ramsay said. 

  


* * *

  


It was surprisingly easy to cook in front of a hundred people as long as Bucky pretended they weren’t there and that all the noise, the shouts and calls, were from a very loud, good quality radio. Steve seemed to have no problem at all, even egging on the audience’s chanting of his name at one point. 

It would be so much easier if he hated Steve.

But he didn’t.

Most of the time.

Asshole.

Every once in awhile Bucky could hear Rebecca’s shouts of encouragement and they helped to settle his nerves. Mostly he just tried to focus on what he was doing. If he let his mind wander or got too distracted, it could be the one mistake he made that kept him from winning this stupid challenge.

It felt like no time at all had passed when Ramsay announced that they had one minute left. Then, the countdown from 10 started and Bucky was done. Most of his dishes were great so he almost felt excited about it but mostly he just wanted it to be over. It didn’t matter if he won or if Steve won - this wasn’t the finale. This didn’t decide anything.

But it wouldn’t be a _bad thing_ if he won…

Waiting for the three judges - Ramsay was joined by two esteemed local chefs - to deliberate about each dish was like a new kind of torture not even Bucky had been subjected to up until this point. They took longer than usual, tasting and thinking and Bucky wondered how much of it was for the camera because it really didn’t take that long to decide whether or not a steak was cooked well. 

Steve won the first point, being out Bucky’s filet mignon with his honey-glazed salmon. But Bucky got the next point and they were neck and neck, 2 to 2. 

Whoever took the next dish won. Steve glanced sideways at Bucky and shot him a small smile as he made his way up to the judge’s table with his dish. Bucky went next and he took back anything he’d ever said about torture, this was definitely the worst of it right here.

“The judges and I have decided,” Ramsay said slowly, “and Bucky… congratulations. You’ve won the challenge!”

The audience roared its approval and Bucky felt his knees grow a little weak. He’d won? That was… amazing. It _felt_ amazing.

And all he could think was how it didn’t matter now what Natasha had said or done in the past - he had won this challenge all on his own and he deserved to be on _Hell’s Kitchen_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took forever to post but it's also hella long so I don't feel bad about it. I've actually been doing WORK at WORK which is just crazypants.
> 
> WINDING DOWN, NOW! Next chapter is the finale and I'm still debating on doing an epilogue, just depending on how it wraps up. Who knows. Also I was thinking about the WORST alternate ending to this fic that I will hopefully remember to put in the note at the end of the last chapter because LMAO IT WOULD BE AMAZING AND AWFUL.


	10. Finale

It was strange seeing the old contestants again. It was a stark reminder of how far Bucky had actually come - how many downright talented chefs he’d beaten out of the competition so far.

“Bucky, because you won the challenge, you get to choose who you want on your team tonight for dinner service first,” Ramsay said.

Bucky wished he’d been nicer, wished he’d made _friends_ with these people because most of them were looking nervous and Tony was looking murderous.

“My first choice is Maria,” Bucky said.

Maria nodded - business as usual. He appreciated that and hoped their earlier brush with friendship might last through the night. 

“Steve? Who is your first choice?” Ramsay asked.

“Sam.”

Well, that was obvious. Bucky had considered Sam for half a second, but he’d rather leave Steve to deal with the constant chatting he’d no doubt be doing during the most important night of their lives.

“Bucky, your second choice?”

“Bruce.”

Steve took Kate, which was surprising. She was a good cook, but place her next to someone like Sam and they’d spend hours just heckling each other.

Bucky looked at who was left. Natasha, Darcy, Clint, and Tony. Tony was clearly on the bottom of his list. He’d die before he willingly put his fate in Tony’s hands. Clint was just lazy and Bucky couldn’t imagine keeping cool with him messing up orders and not even caring. Darcy was… well, she was a possibility. But Natasha. Sure, he had the slight urge to push her down a short flight of stairs for fucking with his life, but she was the most talented chef up there.

He swallowed his pride and convinced himself it would be okay if only because he had the option to kick her out of the kitchen if need be. “Natasha,” he said.

She didn’t look surprised to hear her name out of his mouth which made him bristle. Had she planned that too? Now he was just getting paranoid…

Steve picked Clint, and Bucky honestly wondered what he was playing at. Sam and Kate on the same team, sure. But Clint and Kate? That was just a nightmare waiting to happen, right?

Well, the choice between Tony and Darcy was an easy one, and Darcy sauntered over to Bucky with a smug look, probably happy just not to have been picked last. 

Which left Steve with Tony. Bucky only felt bad for a moment. Steve had made his own decisions and now it all came down to their leadership skills. Bucky wanted to win and his team was going to help him do just that.

  


* * *

  


There was a short break for lunch before they were ushered into the dorm so they could sit down and discuss the menu and stations for that night’s dinner service.

“I’m going to be floating,” Bucky said immediately. “Maria, I want you on fish. Natasha on meat and Darcy on garnish. Bruce, you have hot apps. Got that?”

They all nodded, looking serious and determined. _Fuck “Sergeant”, he could totally be a Captain._ They reviewed the entrees and Bucky quizzed them. No sooner had they relaxed and Bucky was finally feeling excited rather than anxious than they were called downstairs to start prepping. 

Chopping, cleaning, sharpening, preparing - it kept Bucky busy enough not to be thrown into a full blown panic, but the anxiety was pulsing through him like electricity and he just wanted to get started. He could hear Steve in the other kitchen laugh at something every once in awhile.

“Bucky, we’re gonna need more fennel,” Natasha said.

“I’ll grab it,” he said.

Natasha hadn’t said a word about anything that wasn’t cooking-related so far and that was fine by him. He wanted today to be the last time he ever saw her. He was _not_ going to let her take credit for his winning tonight, that he was sure of.

He pushed through the back door and nearly ran head on into Steve. Steve grabbed him by the front of his jacket, pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard.

“ _Cameras!_ ” Bucky hissed.

“It’s our last day as star-crossed lovers,” Steve replied. He leaned toward Bucky with a grin, one hand on the wall by Bucky’s head. “Once tonight is over, the flame will be dead, the excitement that came with sneaking around gone, and we’ll be like an old married couple, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s too bad,” Bucky replied. “I was really looking forward to the honeymoon period first.”

Steve shook his head. “No can-do. It’s over after tonight. Sorry, Buck. I don’t make the rules.”

“Then we’d better make the best of it now, I guess,” Bucky said.

“How so?”

“Exactly how mad do you think Ramsay would be if we started drying humping at the pass in front of the guests?”

Steve thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think we could get away with it without getting _arrested_ , but I don’t think either of us will _win_.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Too bad. But you know what?”

“What?”

“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.” He leaned in to kiss Steve, this time slower and deeper.

“In all seriousness,” Bucky said, pulling back and smoothing the front of Steve’s jacket, “good luck.”

Steve smiled. “You too. And sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“For beating your ass and getting the job,” Steve said matter-of-factly. He pushed off the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets with a stupid, smug grin on his face.

Bucky guffawed. “You wish,” he said. “Tonight’s all mine, Rogers.”

“Hey, ебать-мальчиков, can’t start dinner service without the heroes,” Natasha called, sticking her head through the door.

“Fuckboys,” Steve remembered. “Y’know, I looked that up. I’m definitely _not_ a fuckboy.”

“Yeah, I don’t think she means it like that,” Bucky replied.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she’s not _wrong_.”

  


* * *

  


Dinner service started out a little wobbly. Darcy kept trying to make Bruce laugh, which was causing the garnish to come out later than it should.

“Hey Bruce, did you hear the one about the Japanese golfer?” Darcy asked.

Bucky walked up behind her. “Darcy?”

“Hey, boss.”

“Not your boss. But I am telling you that if I hear one more raunchy joke, you’re leaving this kitchen.”

“So, knock-knock jokes are okay?” she asked.

He scowled at her so she turned away and continued to work. She must’ve gotten the point because she kept quiet for the most part and garnish came out much faster.

Bruce was less distracted with Darcy focused elsewhere, and every appetizer came out perfect. 

“Thank you for being the least distracted member of this group,” Bucky said to Bruce as he slid a pan of scallops onto the counter at the pass.

“Mm, I wouldn’t say that,” Bruce said. “I’ve been thinking wedding plans this whole time. Betty really loves lilies, but I’m partial to sunflowers. What do you think?”

Bucky stared at Bruce blankly. “You’re joking,” Bucky said.

“I’m joking,” Bruce said.

“Okay. Good. Just… Go cook something.”

Bruce grinned at him before he turned away and left.

Bruce had _joked_ with _him_. Well, that was new but he didn’t have time to dwell because the first order had just come in for entrees. Bucky called out the ticket.

Bucky walked around the kitchen every once in awhile, giving help when it was needed but otherwise staying at the pass to expedite. Thor was beside him some of the time; at the beginning of service he had tried to make small talk, but found Bucky’s one-word replies lacking, so he moved on to Fury when he was at the pass to collect plates.

Bucky hadn’t spoken two words to Fury outside of the family night debacle, so it was strange to see him so willing to have a conversation. If Bucky were to pick two people on staff that got along, Fury and Thor certainly didn’t come to mind. They were both friendly enough, but Thor overly so while Fury appeared angry 90 percent of the time.

Fury asked Thor about his home, which was apparently somewhere in Eastern Europe, even though he didn’t have an accent (though it did explain the names).

Somewhere in the middle of service, Bucky got worried. Maria had sent out two fish dishes raw. She clearly looked flustered, having gone redder in the face every time he sent the dish back.

“Maria, what’s going on?” Bucky asked, trying to stay calm but feeling the anxiety and panic build up anyway.

“Sorry, sorry, Bucky. Sorry, I just-”

“Hey, it’s fine. Just. Calm down first.”

She put down the pan and heaved out a breath. “I just kept thinking about this competition and you and how you deserve this so much.”

“Jesus.” Bucky rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Maria glanced nervously at Natasha who was looking pointedly at the racks of lamb she was searing off.

“ _Natasha_ ,” Bucky said, trying desperately not to assume anything. 

Natasha glanced up, looking far too innocent to be genuine. “Hmm?” she asked.

“What did you tell Maria?”

“Nothing.”

“Natasha,” Bucky repeated.

“Okay, I may have mentioned that you were an orphan who never got any Christmas presents and whose only goal growing up was to break out of the villainous clutches of the Russian mafia to win _Hell’s Kitchen_ which you’d been watching since you were old enough to flip a pancake.”

Bucky looked at the ceiling hoping the blood wouldn’t _actually_ boil out of his veins and ruin the perfectly good food.

“Despite _most of that not being true_ , why the hell would you do that?” Bucky asked

“I thought it would give her some incentive,” Natasha replied with a shrug.

Bucky turned to Maria. “Maria, please don’t listen to anything Natasha says.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to get that,” Maria replied. “Really, Bucky, I’m sorry. No more mistakes.”

Bucky tried not to strangle Natasha as he passed her on his way back up to the front of the kitchen.

Maria was true to her word, and they completed dinner service only a minute behind Steve’s kitchen. Bucky was dying to know how Steve’s service went. He’d been so focused on his own, he hadn’t even thought to look over to the other kitchen to see if they were doing poorly or not.

“Congratulations to both kitchens!” Ramsay said. “You both performed really really well. I’m impressed, honestly. Go ahead and head upstairs while I deliberate.”

“How’d it go?” Bucky asked Steve as they headed up the stairs. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired, but pleased and he smiled at Bucky when he replied: “Good. I think. I hope. I’m pretty sure. You?”

Bucky let out a laugh. “Yeah. Same. Can’t believe it’s over.”

They filed into the dorm, Steve and Bucky sinking into the loveseat gratefully with matching tired sighs.

“I think we did awesome,” Kate commented cheerfully. 

“Totally,” Clint added, the word muffled by the bagel he was eating, not even bothering to toast it or eat it with anything, electing to treat it like a doughnut instead.

“Please. You guys got nothin’ on us,” Natasha said.

Sam barked a laugh. “You didn’t see our mad skills in the kitchen, sweet thing. It was like pure communication and teamwork _the whole time_.”

“It was surprisingly not terrible. But, let’s be totally honest guys, it was mostly my save on the garnish,” Tony added.

Sam scoffed and tossed a throw pillow at him. “You wish!”

“Sounds like it’ll be close,” Steve said to Bucky. 

“Sounds like,” Bucky agreed.

His heart was beating a mile a minute and he couldn’t stop grinding his teeth. Damn it all, he wished this could just end already. He wanted to know. _He needed to know_.

Ramsay must have heard Bucky’s silent plea because the call came and they made their way downstairs while the others headed into the dining room where everyone was gathered for the announcement.

Bucky had never been in the room on top of the stairs. He’d seen pictures and clips of the inside. Behind him there were two doors and and he knew only one of them would open. He also knew he wanted his door to open more than anything in the world and that Steve was thinking the same thing.

“Steve. Bucky,” Ramsay said, standing before them. “You are two of the best chefs we’ve had on this show. You are _both_ incredibly talented and no matter who walks through the door, I want you both to know that this decision was one of the most difficult I’ve ever had to make. Now, are you ready to find out who the next winner of _Hell’s Kitchen_ is?”

“Yes, Chef,” Steve and Bucky replied at the same time.

“Steve, to the left. Bucky, to the right.”

Bucky stepped up to the door and tried to remember the finale of the last season Tony had forced them to watch, tried to remember which door had opened then. Had it been the left door? They wouldn’t use the same door twice, would they? Unless they knew people would think that, so they were going to use the left door twice. Jesus, this was stressful.

Bucky placed his hand on the doorknob and tried to still his racing thoughts. 

“Okay,” Ramsay said. “Open the door.”

Bucky glanced over at Steve who returned the look briefly before they both pushed down on the handle and pushed on the door.

Bucky’s door didn’t open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the audience cries for poor bucky barnes] 
> 
> I've decided on ONE MORE CHAPTER. So, hang tight. Expect it Monday probably.


	11. Epilogue

**One Year Later**

Bucky dreamed. He was on a boat in the midst of a howling storm. The boat listed dangerously in one direction and then the next, Bucky was so sure he was going to go flying off into the depths of the ocean and drown.

The storm only got bigger with every passing moment and it was everything Bucky could do not to go head over heels into the water. He no sooner latched onto a thick, wooden mast than it splintered and sent him skidding to the starboard side.

Waves pounded his body, knocking his legs out from under him, slamming into his chest.

Except this one wave didn’t give him reprieve; it stuck to his body and pushed him into the soft wood of the ship. The wave spoke.

The wave had blue eyes and messy, sand-colored hair and a big grin and-

“Steve,” Bucky grunted.

“Morning,” Steve said cheerily.

“Hell. You’re heavy.”

“Big breakfast.” Steve rolled off of Bucky to the side.

Bucky grumbled something and wiped a hand across his face. “What time is it?”

“Mm. Like almost 5:30,” Steve replied.

Bucky whimpered. “Steve, why the hell am I awake at 5:30 in the morning?”

“Because today is a big fuckin’ deal, remember?”

Bucky didn’t remember, but he’d also been so rudely awoken it was a surprise he even remembered his own name. It was still pitch dark in the room, the only light coming from the doorway where the hallway light was leaking through.

Steve’s room, Steve’s light, Steve’s hallway.

No, their hallway. It still made Bucky bristle a little. He didn’t like to think of it as his when he hadn’t had any part in buying it, but Steve insisted. And Bucky knew Steve wasn’t bitter in the slightest, but it still wounded Bucky’s pride.

Today, that was going to change. 

Bucky remembered what today was.

“The meeting isn’t until 12,” Bucky complained.

“Yes, but we’re going to have breakfast with Sam first.”

“At 8.”

“And I want you to fuck me into next week before we go.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He should be used to Steve’s ridiculously conspicuous dirty talk, but it somehow still caught him off guard even a year later. 

“Shit. Happy anniversary,” Bucky said. He could see Steve’s grin even in the dark of the room. It looked downright devilish. “Can I at least wake up first?” Bucky asked. 

Steve leaned over Bucky, one hand on either side of his body, and leaned down to kiss him. Bucky knew he probably tasted like stale toothpaste and morning breath, but Steve never seemed to care. Still, Bucky was a little self-conscious and he put a hand on Steve’s chest.

“Let me brush my teeth, you fucking nympho,” Bucky said.

Steve let out a laugh and sat back to watch Bucky disappear into the bathroom. When Bucky was done brushing his teeth, pushing his hair into a manageable mess at the back of his head, and looking a little less like he was dead on his feet, he walked back into the bedroom.

Steve was asleep, curled up right where Bucky left him, mouth half-open and breathing deeply. Bucky rolled his eyes. He crawled into bed next to Steve, poking him in the ribs until he woke up enough to slide under the blankets. Then Bucky threw an arm and a leg over Steve and tried to fall back asleep.

It was difficult to be annoyed with Steve when he looked so damn peaceful like this. Bucky knew how hard he worked. Being head chef came with a ton of responsibilities and the 12-hour days took it out of Steve, even if he refused to show it. The fact that Steve still woke up so early floored Bucky, and Steve swore it was in his military blood. But Bucky knew he didn’t sleep well. Bucky knew what that was like. Their dreams were of the same ilk, and even if they didn’t like to share the specifics, it was comforting to know the other understood. Really, truly understood.

Steve had offered to hire Bucky at the Boxwood Cafe, but Bucky refused. He had refused at least two dozen times by now, but it wasn’t right. Despite Steve’s protests about Bucky having proved himself a worthy chef, it still felt _wrong_ to take a position from his boyfriend.

Today he had a meeting with a restaurant owner who was looking to sell. It was only five miles from Steve’s place, already had a regular customer base, and all Bucky had to do was keep it going. There was more involved, obviously, but he was optimistic.

Steve had offered to front the money, of course, but Bucky again refused. This was _his_ project, and he appreciated the help, but he’d do just as well paying back a bank than Steve. 

Bucky woke from a dreamless sleep to the feeling of fingers combing through his hair. He made a happy little moaning noise that Steve chuckled at.

“I fell asleep,” Steve said quietly.

It was light in the room now, but only slightly, so it couldn’t have been 7 yet. 

“I didn’t notice,” Bucky replied sleepily.

Steve sighed. “I feel like I don’t have time for you anymore. And now you’re gonna be working-”

“Steve, stop,” Bucky said. This was an old worry of Steve’s, that he wasn’t taking care of Bucky properly or spending enough time with him or fucking him enough.

Which, to be fair, they hadn’t had sex for a good week now, but what with Bucky always on the phone talking to business lawyers and accountants and Steve at the restaurant almost always, it was no wonder. 

Steve pouted, giving Bucky his best puppy eyes. “I feel bad,” he said. “I don’t want to become one of those couples that has to _schedule_ when they have sex because they’re so busy.”

“Steve, you gave me a blowjob when I was on the phone with Andy talking about tax breaks. I had to convince him I was working out a charlie horse.”

“Had to get creative,” Steve explained lazily.

Bucky snorted. “I think we’ll be fine.” He pushed lightly on Steve’s chest so he fell on his back, threw a leg over and straddled him. “Now, about that ‘fucking you into next week’ thing.”

Bucky was already in his boxer briefs, so he stripped Steve first, pulling his shirt over his head and helping him wriggle out of his jeans. Steve watched with a blissful, glazed look in his eye as Bucky kissed his navel, his hip, just above the hem of his underwear. Bucky tugged them off. Bucky reached over to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and grabbed the lube. He coated his fingers and pushed the first into Steve. It was tight, but he loosened in no time at all so Bucky could fit two fingers. Steve’s half hard dick twitched when Bucky curled his finger just so and Steve let out a barely muffled groan of pleasure.

Bucky pushed Steve’s legs back. He poured more lube into his hand and stroked his own cock until he was hard. He pushed into the Steve slowly, relishing the tightness and the heat. Steve let out a strained moan. “Fuck, Bucky.”

Bucky pulled out slowly then pushed in again, this time bottoming out. He laid his forehead on Steve’s chest and left breathless kisses there.

Steve’s hand slid to the back of Bucky’s neck and pulled him up so he could kiss Bucky with an open mouth. Bucky picked up a rhythm, thrusting into Steve with more fervor as the heat built in his stomach and cock. He repositioned himself at an angle so when he pushed in he could hit that sweet spot Steve loved so much.

Steve actually whimpered when Bucky pushed in again. “Holy fuck,” Steve breathed. “Yeah. Right there. Shit.”

When Bucky was close, he took Steve in hand and stroked him in time with his own thrusts until Steve came with an audible cry. Bucky gave in then, thrusting hard and deep, and he came inside Steve with a moan of pleasure.

Bucky rolled over next to Steve and tried to catch his breath. Steve wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Happy anniversary, Buck,” he said.

Bucky let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

“Even though technically our one-year anniversary was three weeks ago.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m just saying,” Steve continued with an innocent look. “We agreed we started dating that first day we ate together-”

“No, we agreed we started dating when we were in Las Vegas. _You_ somehow figured eating together equaled dating,” Bucky argued. “By the way, I’ve yet to break up with _any_ of the other contestants on the show.”

“So you’re a cheater,” Steve said. “Am I the other woman?”

“I don’t know if it’s cheating if _you’re_ dating them, too,” Bucky pointed out. “We are all the other woman.”

“Deep.”

“Mmhmm.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence and Bucky was almost asleep again when Steve jostled the bed.

“Whaaaaat?” Bucky whined.

“Breakfast with Sam,” Steve reminded him.

“We have plenty of time,” Bucky said. He turned onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

“We have ten minutes,” Steve replied.

Bucky sat up in a hurry, looking at the clock. “Shit,” he said. He threw his pillow in Steve’s face before hopping off the bed and into the bathroom. “You should have _said!_ ” he shouted as he turned on the shower.

He could hear Steve’s laugh in the other room. Bucky stepped into the stream of water before it was even warm and cursed as the cool water touched his hot skin. He ran his face under and pushed his hair back. 

He jumped when he felt two warm hands on his hips. “Jesus, you scared me,” Bucky complained.

Steve let out a low laugh that was more like a growl in his ear. He placed soft kisses on Bucky’s shoulder until Bucky turned to face him.

“Steve, we’ll be late if we- _Fuck_.” Steve had grabbed Bucky’s cock and jerked it unkindly.

“I’m serious, Steve,” Bucky said. “Last time we were late, Sam never let us hear the end of it.”

Steve pushed Bucky against the tiled wall and kissed him hard on the mouth, his cock in Steve’s hand. He was still sensitive from having come so soon before, but he could already feel the warmth building again. 

“You worry too much,” Steve said into Bucky’s mouth.

“That’s rich,” Bucky said, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

“Besides,” Steve continued, “I wanted to return the favor.” Steve fell to his knees, leaving a trail of kisses on his way down.

“It’s not like I wasn’t enjoying- _Holy fucking shit_.” Steve’s mouth wrapped around the head of Bucky’s cock and whatever he was doing with his tongue was certainly illegal.

Bucky put a hand through Steve’s wet hair and pushed it back, holding on tightly to the back. He let Steve do most of the work until it became too good, too much not to fuck into his mouth. Steve pushed Bucky’s hips back when Bucky was so close to the edge that Bucky actually resisted. But Steve was stronger and he stood up to kiss Bucky. He tasted like salt and water, which turned Bucky on more than he thought possible. He was so close, so desperately close he could just rut up against Steve’s own hard cock and come that way, but Steve was being an asshole, keeping him just far enough away. 

“Steve,” Bucky whined, trying not to sound like a petulant child and failing spectacularly at it.

“Not yet,” Steve breathed near his ear.

The water was hot now, almost burning, but Bucky couldn’t be bothered enough to change it. He just wanted Steve - and Steve was inclined to agree. He pushed two fingers inside of Bucky. It hurt slightly without lube and only water to help Steve slide in, but Bucky loved it, he was so desperate for touch. It was just a matter of minutes of Steve working Bucky open before Steve lined up his cock at Bucky’s opening and pushed in. Fuck, it was tight. But it filled Bucky up and it was so _good_ , so desperately, wonderfully _good_. If Bucky had been close before, now he was dancing on the brink.

He let out a stuttering cry as he came, but Steve wasn’t finished. He thrust into Bucky several more times, each one deeper and faster than the last until he came, biting down on Bucky’s shoulder so hard there’d no doubt be a bruise.

Steve pulled out with a huff and Bucky leaned against the wall, letting his knees bend weakly. Steve leaned forward, both hands on the wall on either side of Bucky, the spray from the showering battering his arm. 

“Sam,” Bucky breathed, “is going to kill us.”

Steve let out a laugh and shook his head. “I texted him awhile ago. Changed it to 9.”

Bucky stared at him in disbelief. “Fucking _asshole_.”

Steve laughed loudly, leaned forward, and kissed Bucky. “I didn’t know how else to get you in the shower so quickly,” he admitted.

Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered. “You’re impossible.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Bucky let out a breath. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But I love you.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky tucked a stray hair behind his ear and smoothed down the front of his shirt. Maybe Steve was right, maybe he should’ve cut his hair for this. But no, that wasn’t fair. He liked his hair long. That’s who he was. And the restaurant owner already knew him with long hair anyway and it’s not like Mr. Erskine cared. Or if he did, he didn’t show it. The big thing today was showing Mr. Erskine that he got the loan from the bank and was willing to the buy the place outright - that day, even, if the other man were up to it.

“Mr. Barnes!” Erskine greeted cheerily from the host desk at the front of the restaurant. He had a heavy German accent, round glasses and a cheerful smile. “I’m glad you could make it!” 

“Mr. Erskine,” Bucky said, extending his hand.

“Please, please,” Erskine replied, taking his hand. “Abraham!”

“Abraham,” Bucky repeated with a strained smile.

“Now, I hope you don’t mind but we’ve had another offer.”

Bucky’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Ah, but don’t worry so much!” Erskine said quickly. “This may work out better than you think.” He touched the side of his nose and winked at Bucky. He wasn’t sure how that was supposed to make him feel better, but he followed Erskine into the back where his office was anyway.

“The offer, you see, is not for ownership, but for a _management position_. I think, should you still want to buy this place, then this may all work out! You said yourself that management was not your strong suit, did you not?”

“I did,” Bucky admitted. They made it to Erskine’s office door which was shut.

“Now, I must warn you,” Erskine said conspiratorially just outside the door, “the woman interested in this position is very beautiful, I hope you don’t mind-” He stopped short. “Wait. I have just remembered you have a boyfriend. Well, never mind, then!” Erskine let out a short laugh before pushing his office door open.

“Mr. Bucky Barnes, this is Natasha Romanoff. Ms. Romanoff, this is-”

“We’ve met,” Natasha said shortly.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Bucky said.

“Oh!” Erskine said, clapping his hands together. “Then this is good news!”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Bucky said darkly. “Mr. Erskine-”

“Abraham!”

“ _Abraham_ , would you mind giving us a minute?”

Erskine looked genuinely confused for a moment before he nodded once and left the office, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky turned on Natasha. She didn’t look much different from a year ago. Her hair was shorter and she was wearing a form-fitting business suit in all black.

“This is a joke, right?” Bucky asked.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were the ‘reputable chef’ buying this place or I would have looked _elsewhere_ ,” she said.

“Okay, good. Then go _elsewhere_.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No,” she said.

“What?”

“No. I like this place. I want to run it.”

Bucky scoffed. “No way. I’m not working with you.”

There was a pause where they both just glared at one another until finally Natasha cracked, her face falling into her hand and her posture going soft. She sighed deeply and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Look,” she said. “Before? That was a job. It wasn’t _personal_. I didn’t set out to fuck around with your life, okay? But you have to admit - I did my job well. Sure, you didn’t win, but I got you there and- Well, my point is, I can do the work. You know that. I’ve gotten a lot better at leading. Just. Give me a chance.”

Bucky frowned at her. When he didn’t reply right away, she added: “You’ll be able to fire me whenever you want.”

That was true.

“I’ll think about it.”

Natasha slipped her hand into the interior pocket of her blazer and pulled out a business card. She handed it to him with a smile that seemed genuine. 

“Do that,” Natasha said. “Seriously, I think it could be good.” She opened the office door and stepped past Erskine who had clearly been eavesdropping, and disappeared around the door.

Erskine cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Well, where were we?” he asked.

“I got the loan,” Bucky said, handing a dark brown folder over to Erskine. “And I’m willing to take this place off your hands today.”

Erskine smiled widely.

  


* * *

  


Bucky leaned his head against the steering wheel of his car and listened to the ringing on the other end of his phone. It was the lunch rush, so he didn’t expect Steve to pick up, which was why he was surprised when he did with a breathless “Hello?”

“Steve.”

“Bucky? Hey! How’d it go?” 

Bucky could hear the tell-tale sounds of a busy kitchen on Steve’s end. “Sorry,” Bucky said. “You’re busy. I can call later.”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said, followed by a muffled, “Make sure you watch the heat on that fish, Alex!” Steve’s voice came back. “I’m all ears.”

“I got it,” Bucky said.

“You- You got it! You got it? So, wait. Why are you not ecstatic?”

“I am ecstatic.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I _am_ ,” Bucky assured him. “Really. I just. Natasha was there.”

“Sorry, hold on, I can’t hear you.” There was a shuffling noise and the sound of a door opening and closing. “All right, what’d you say? Sounded like you said _Natasha_ was there.” Steve laughed.

“I did,” Bucky replied.

Steve stopped laughing. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She wants to be the manager of the place once I buy it.”

“So, what’re you gonna do?”

Bucky let out a breath and leaned back into the car seat. “Well, I can’t hire her!” He sounded more certain than he felt.

Steve hummed a reply. “I think you should think about it.”

“Steve, how could I? After what she did?”

“Well, it wasn’t really _her_ ,” Steve pointed out and it made Bucky mad how stupidly right he was being. “Just think about it. Or don’t. It’s your restaurant. If you feel like you can’t work with her, then don’t hire her. But you know her. You know she can work and it’d save you the trouble of having to go through the hiring process which I can tell you from personal experience is awful.”

“Ugh,” Bucky groaned. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll… think about it.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied miserably.

Steve laughed, his breath making the phone static. “I love you,” he said.

“You too,” Bucky said and he hung up. 

  


* * *

  


Bucky was sifting through the contract on the couch in the living room when Steve got home at one in the morning. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his leather bomber jacket.

“Hey,” Steve said, coming into the living room.

“Hey,” Bucky said, not even looking up.

“Happy anniversary.”

Steve stood in front of Bucky and held out a plain, white envelope. Bucky looked up and took it from him. He sat up straight on the couch, tucking his feet under him. Steve sat next to him on the couch and watched as Bucky tore open the letter.

Inside was a single sheet and two papers that looked oddly like…

“Plane tickets?” Bucky said.

“Yep,” Steve said with a smile.

Bucky looked closer. “Plane tickets to _Europe_?”

“Yep.”

“Steve, these are for _next week_. I can’t go! The restaurant-”

“Look at the date again.”

Bucky did. “These are for next year?”

Steve shrugged. “Figured in a year you’ll be doing well enough that you can take a week off to fly with your boyfriend to Europe.”

Bucky bit his lip and stared at the tickets. “Thank you,” he said and he meant it. Steve honestly believed he was going to do well enough to be able to _leave_? That was faith.

Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky softly on the lips. 

“I know you were worried,” Bucky said, pulling back. “But I did get you something.”

Steve frowned. “I told you not to worry about it, Buck.”

“I know. But this is _one year_. That’s a big deal. So…” Bucky reached under the couch and pulled out an envelope not unlike the one Steve had just handed to him.

“I hope these aren’t plane tickets to Europe for next year,” Steve said, “because there’ll be a serious conflict there.” He took the envelope and opened it. There was a single sheet of paper inside that he unfolded and read. “Spay and neuter your pets. I’m uncomfortable.” Steve frowned at Bucky who laughed.

“The other side,” Bucky said.

Steve turned the paper. “A voucher. A voucher? For… the humane society? Wait.”

“You can get your stupid cat,” Bucky said.

Steve had been asking for a cat for the longest time, but Bucky had resisted. He wasn’t a pet person - at least, he didn’t think he was - and was too stressed out to deal with another creature in the house without threatening to explode.

But now he had the restaurant and things were looking up and how bad could a cat really be?

Steve was smiling widely. “You really mean it?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I went into that godforsaken place to get this stupid piece of paper, so yes, I mean it.”

Steve reached forward and pulled Bucky into a tight hug. “You’re not gonna regret this, Buck. Trust me. Cats are _awesome_.”

Bucky snorted. When Steve let him go, Bucky collected the strewn papers of the contract and slid them back into the manila folder.

“So,” Steve said. “Natasha, huh?”

Bucky nodded slowly and placed the folder on the coffee table.

“You think she knew you were the one buying the restaurant?” Steve asked.

“It crossed my mind, but honestly? No. She seemed just as surprised to see me there.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Bucky let out a breath and laid back against the arm of the couch. “I have no idea. I mean, it could be fine. It could also be the opposite of fine, though.” He ran a hand down his face. “I’ve got no fucking clue.”

Steve watched him for a minute and then crawled over to lay nestled between the couch and Bucky, laying more on top of him than the actual sofa. “Well, whatever you choose, I’m happy you got the place. I think it’s gonna be great.”

Bucky ran a hand through the soft hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck and hummed in agreement. Steve was right. There was a lot to figure out; more than enough to stress him out for a few months, but for the first time in awhile he was genuinely happy. 

This was going to be a good thing, he could tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so, so much for reading. Honestly, the fact that so many people actually read this??? Incredible. 
> 
> A couple notes on this chapter:  
> Steve definitely eats more than one breakfast. He's a literal hobbit.
> 
> I like to think Bucky decides to hire Natasha and become grudging BFFs, but that's really up to the reader to decide.
> 
> LMAO THE ALTERNATE ENDING. So I was driving to my parents' and was thinking about how I could end this terribly and I could totally have made Steve part of the bratva and he was just getting close to bucky as part of a mission. Mmm, that would've been evil. 
> 
> Alternatively, my friends and I were late-night talking about Bucky fisting Steve like that one piece of fanart (I'd look it up and put a link but I'm on my work computer and not even I have a death wish that bad - if I remember, I'll link it when I get home because it's INCREDIBLE) and how Bucky would fist Steve so hard he'd just end up inside of him, take over his body, and win Hell's Kitchen that way. #beautiful
> 
> Jesus. Okay this got away from me. I don't think I have anything else to add?? Other than I guess now I'll be working on [And the blood will dry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2565134/chapters/5704526) which is an in-canon post-TWS fic, so if you're into that, check it out. 
> 
> OTHERWISE,
> 
> THANK YOU AGAIN SO MUCH FOR READING!!
> 
> And thanks again to elen267 for helping with the Russian translations!


End file.
